It's uncomfortable to like a boy such as you,
like an old bruise when I prod the thoughts
of you
curiosity and pain blooms.
You're so new to me,
the 'crush of the week'
but this has lasted way past those last days of June.
Now I sit here, think of you and fear that I'll be forever wanting something that isn't there, sparks and flame doused before they truly began to rage,
My thoughts of you are sad and sweet
you are such a pretty, precious, thing—so far removed from me.
This fixation on you is weak, I'll be distracted by the next bright color, nice face or strange feat, by some Jock or geek and I'll forget you boy, by the end of next week.
Love is too strong a word for this delicate strange thing, maybe thats why it's so baffling I'm still thinking of you, when 'CRUSH' is what I'm trying to note you down as.
And I tell myself that crushing this green seedling of hope is not a bad thing at all.
10-4-23
YOU ARE READING
Nonsensical poems, extreme caution suggested
PoetryMy humor, my rhythms, spelling errors and an abundance of commas instead of proper punctuation. Recommend not reading if you dislike lazy rhythms, bad puns, messy words, angst, loopy-ness, love Songs. If that didn't scare you away, please do not Co...
