Cuyler

It's not that, Cuyler, it's that

 

Being here with you is torture, but I push on

Even when you make fun of me

Causing my face to turn bright red

And I wish I could say something, but I can't

Under your gaze, everything I do is wrong

So I stay silent, and watch your blue eyes

Except when my gaze trails down your face to your lips

 

I want to start a conversation

 

Leaving me alone with my thoughts is worse

Or perhaps that's just because you wouldn't be there

Various thoughts move through my mind

Eclipsing any peace I get only around you

 

Yelling through my thoughts

Only pausing to listen to your beautiful voice

Until your eyes entrance me once more

This poem is about: 
Me

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