The streets lights glints towards my eyes
Walking through these roads after a group project seemed too dull
Almost lonely, Almost suffocating.
If I'd be honest I did seem to enjoy their presence.
Though I also seem to be pushing these enjoyments behind
Wanting to fool myself on believing I'm no one to be happy at such events
Even though it is clear I did like to have company sometimes.
Though , I hate how every after a meeting with these friends,
I just start to think that they don't think of me as I think of them.
To think of them just leaving me behind without any second thoughts
All because they secretly hate me
And my endless of tales
I wouldn't be this talkative though, if they hadn't made me want to trust them now.
I hate to feel this way All over again
I hate it when I think of future goodbyes and not future 'hello' s
As if they are more likely to happen than the other
It felt heavy on my heart
It felt like I'm tearing myself apart
Just by thinking
Thinking of such things that I knew would only hurt me more than it already do.
Did I really have to feel such ways?
Did I really have to prove myself right every time?
Sometimes I wish
That my thoughts aren't as right as they always were...
Sometimes I knew what I want
And it's as simple as recognition
Maybe I could be the topic not the topic maker
Maybe I could be the muse instead of the artist
Maybe... they could show me how they'd appreciate me more than I show them my... self in which I genuinely did hide from Almost everyone even my family.
Sometimes... I wish
That these could be as true as the sorrow I feel as I linger through these words.
As real as the tears that flows through my cheeks at night as my silent sobs get muffled by the pillow I hug.
As real as these thoughts
As real as my desire
As real as these tints that I see in the sky which I once thought as a child as clouds, but in truth they are gradients forming as the afternoon goes.
Maybe in this night walks I wouldn't be alone, going home, without anyone to talk about my nonsense.
And maybe that way it wouldn't feel
this cold out here.
YOU ARE READING
Let It Drizzle
Poésiecollection of poems that define one's mind. A poem for some memory and throught that 'I' have. Though, would it really be that special if I said it's for my self....?
