The Artist

Sun, 01/07/2018 - 05:28 -- AlexiaH

Dear friend,

 

I love seeing you every morning.

 

Your presence makes me shutter.

 

I enjoy our small talk. It's nice.

 

Sometimes there's silence. It's nice.

 

I tweedle my fingers everday, urging to latch on to something. Do something.

 

Stop.

 

That's my friend.

 

You're my friend. Right?

 

You know enough to be considered my friend.

 

The picture I paint is quite appealing. Is it not?

 

I enjoy painting, drawing, thinking.

 

No!

 

Sometimes thinking. But you don't need to know that, good pal.

 

Your ignorant mind is too simple to even consider my thoughts.

 

Everything is okay.

 

It's your fault you're unaware.

 

It's nice. It is.

 

We'll ignore it together.

 

Oh sweet friend, I know we'll meet once again. 

 

I'll be waiting for you to leave.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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