White roses.
Friendship flowers as you called them.
Yet again my romantic gestures fell short.
My bullet could not hit it's the desired target.
I am no Cupid.
Oh well, at least I got to see your wonderful smile.
Got to give you lots of hugs.
I do not regret anything.
You did not owe me anything more.
I still find comfort in your arms.
Still, find my lost smile in your big knitted jumpers.
The smell of your perfume puts me at ease.
Our hands fit together like well-crafted jigsaw pieces.
I still treasure those days.
Lunchtimes I will cherish.
We are incredibly similar.
We tend to compliment each other's smiles.
This relationship flourishes over typefaces, tea, and the hipster sub-culture.
We are not perfect.
We have dismantled ourselves in front of each other.
Waged wars not worrying about the crossfire.
But much like my happiness, you seem to always come back.
As loyal as my anxiety.
A perfect metaphor for the serotonin that pumps through my veins.
We should spend more time together.
-XR
YOU ARE READING
Moments of gladness, moments of sadness & everything in-between.
PoetryI'm an 18 year old boy with Cerebral Palsy, depression and anxiety. I'm a British Hipster Punk Fuck who has dreams of happiness and independence. Living with my difficulties can be saddening and difficult so to cope I draw (follow my Instagram: ale...
