You hate yourself for loving her.
You hate yourself for being unable to chase her from your thoughts,
your dreams,
the insides of your eyelids,
and your
every
waking
moment,
because she is everywhere you look.
She is the rain,
calm and peaceful and seemingly gentle,
but she sends shivers down your spine when she touches you.
Her long fingers, cold, friendly, unknowing.
She tells you that she isn’t perfect,
because of course she isn’t.
The word perfect barely begins to sum up her eyes.
The word perfect barely begins to describe all of her faulted beauty.
She is flawless and yet so flawed.
She is beauty and terror,
and she is the desperate ache in your throat when she looks at you.
You hate yourself for wanting her.
You hate yourself for wanting her so much
that the lines on your wrists bleed her name.
But the pain is nothing compared to what you feel when you look at her.
It is nothing compared to the way you bite your tongue when she looks at you.
You hate yourself for hiding from her.
You hate yourself for avoiding eye contact,
but you know that if she looks you in the eye
she will see right through you,
and you almost want her to.
YOU ARE READING
Words Left Unsaid
PoetryIn the world of poems I am not the most perfect writer but I have people buying them part time. Read and enjoy. Don't forget to vote and comment so i know what to write more of!
