September child,
It's been a few days.
How are you?
And I don't ask to be polite.
You know that.
So how are you?
I'm too shy to text you,
Too calculating of every response I send.
But I long to know
What lives inside your heart.
You make me feel small.
That's not a bad thing, not really.
Not good, not bad.
Just...small.
Sometimes you reveal your soul at 1am.
Other times, you give one-word responses to my ramblings.
You know I ramble because I'm nervous.
Because I want to talk to you,
But I don't know how to ask how you are.
When I do get the courage to ask,
When the longing overcomes my fear,
Your cold, impersonal replies shoot me right down.
I know you don't mean to.
And I don't hate you,
You've done a lot for me.
But sometimes you make me feel so very
Incredibly,
Unimportantly
Small.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Right Brain
PoetrySome silly, some not. Some lighthearted, some littered with thought. Some passionate, some numb. Some so clever, some outright dumb. Some more cautious, some bursting with tears. Some revealing memories, some unveiling my fears. So here's my heart...
