Alyssa, a poem.

Everyone meets someone

with a timidly shy, "Hello".

You walk up to them, stop for a second

and let your heart play Cello.

Your strong powerful legs can turn to complete Jell-o.

Your stomach churns and turns, as your face turns yellow.

Ironically, you feel so high than quickly far too low.

 

With her,

I refuse to hesitate

when I resuscitate

the thoughts of holding her close.

 

What’s the worst that can happen?

Walking away in rejection

While she points and laughs and

I waddle away

with my tail between my legs

and the feeling of minor depression.

 

Take that step.

Can't trip or I'll miss the journey.

The first one is always tricky.

The key is to keep calm. 

It so happens to be

that I only see

the face of  beauty

striking my heart like a bomb.

 

The pace speeds up.

Under my breath,

I mutter, "Sup".

She didn't hear.

I whisper "Hi",

but she waves goodbye.

Now this is fear, and feels like

I was never even here.

                                                 

This journey was a joke and a lie.

When I said "hi" and she said "bye",

I knew the only people to walk away were

me myself and I. Oh god why?

 

But, the underdog's monologue

with inspirational dialogue

was loud and surprisingly clear.

I am here.

 

Never, back, down.

I laid my hand on her shoulder

feeling ten years older,

and let go of my heart

like a tumbling boulder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I spilled out confessing notions

which spin into internal commotion

when I almost let out

"I love you".

This locomotion of emotion is too much.

Silence grows colder

as she deciphers what I told her.

 

I have to maintain

the feeling I've gained,

and I want to obtain

her heart I yearn for.

 

The reply from her reply is nigh.

Of course after hearing this she was shy.

Out of her mouth came a timid, "Hi".

Just…butterflies.

 

Everyone meets someone with a timidly shy, "Hello".

Whether it’s "Kon' nichwa"

Or "Hola",

Or one is black, or white,

Or blue or green.

Whether it’s straight or gay,

Or in between.

Night or day,

Everyone says "Hello"

in their own way.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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