You're not sweet, in the way
sugar softens in rain. You're sweet,
in the way a blueberry wraps a
personality around her
flesh, full of tang.
You're not interesting, in the way
flirting obliges. You're interesting,
in the way a book holds a
reader captivated through
thick and thin.
You're not driven, in the way
hammers hit nails. You're driven,
in the way a brush licks a
canvas every damn day, to create
something out of nothing.
I don't love you, in the way
The game's played.
I love you
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
