I fall in love with the outgoing boys,
The kind that tell a bit of their story everyday.
To the point where I often forget that they don't know me as well as I know them.
I know his favorite song, which parent he feels closest to, his little brothers middle name, what he wants to be, his favorite time of day, what he loves, how he loves, how he needs to be loved. I know the things about him that really matter. I know because when he talks I listen and when he does things I want to know.
Sure he can tell you the things everyone else knows: what type of dog I have, the instruments I can play, the way I braid my hair. But he can't even tell me my favorite color. He can't tell me anyone of my favorite or personal thing. He can't tell me the things that really matter. He doesn't know because when I speak he doesn't always listen and when I do things he doesn't ask.
And I can't pretend like this knowledge doesn't hurt. Because he will never know me like I know him.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"I know that sometimes for people, I feel like too much; But let me kiss away the phantom pain that the scars remind you of, Let me kiss the burns on your hands, From when you touched the burning fire within my soul. Let me show you that yes, I am...
