I'll sit at the table, hanging.
Emotions and thoughts, overwhelming.
Words and tactics in my head, banging.
Memories of my past, never leaving.
The feelings of winning, relaxing.
But the premonitions, be misunderstanding.
I see my opponents, ever changing.
I'll count my losses, still upwards building.
Yes, I'm that weeping willow.
I'll take up nutrients from the dirt.
I'll won't even attempt to flirt.
But hopefully we can leave this game for some dessert.
And maybe your view of me will only invert,
Then I'll be able to sleep unhurt.
I hope my heart doesn't fall out of my shirt.
But now that I think about it, I'll try to exert
These feelings and return to being an introvert.
Yes, I'm that weeping willow.
YOU ARE READING
The Welting Chess Board
Poetryjust a collection of quick thoughts with some long term emotions |(letter)| = certain people it's made out to btw read a bit and enjoy
