Head down, heart beating
Cute smiles, quite misleading
Whispers strong, voice low
Does he like me?
Does he know?
Walks past, straight to her
How can I know for sure?
Awkward shuffles, confrontation
Quick denial, fast frustration
Hurt feelings, bruised ego
He doesn't like me
But now he knows
k.g
YOU ARE READING
colorless
PoetryIn this instant, I see it all so clearly; while colors are such a vivid asset in his book of pictures, I have realized that the reason I do not fit in this title is because I am simply devoid of color. I am c o l o r l e s s. I am nothing but slathe...
