TheClumsiestPoet

Tue, 07/05/2016 - 18:16 -- zacford

i'm sorry if this doesn't make sense, this is what is on my mind(and this is parts I wrote a week ago)and I'm sorry that I wrote this poem on the car ride back to my house instead of paying attention to the road It's a beautiful night and my best friend is homeand I think about the light reflectors on the side of the freeway a lot mom, I'm sorry I stopped playing the piano I don't know if it's the night or the music or me or you I can't explain a lot of things.I cant explain why my friend's dad did thatI cant explain why I did thatI cant explain why that girl in my English class did thatI cant explain why the boy you were in love with did thatI am so, so, so, sorry     we cried in front of each other , and you looked so beautiful that night , i didn't look back when I was walking away , even though I should have- i love you we kissed the night away , and your friends were waiting for you at your house , our parents had no idea where we were- i love you last night I painted and colored and cried and wrote and cried and hurt myself a little bit and was sad and I was up all night and now my eyes hurt from lack of sleep and too many tears- i love you

 

   you made me less sad and not many people do that, thank youYou don't deserve to be sadyou deserve the best things in the entire world: you deserve bats and birds and babies(because you like those things)and you deserve to dance and sing and to write poetry(because you like those things too) as hard as I try, I can't imagine myself when I'm older. I don't have the slightest clue what I want to do, what I'll look like, who I will be friends with, where I will live, I'm starting to think that i'll die soon because that's just what I'm destined to do.      I need to stop biting my nails,
I need to write more,
I need to traffic school but I think it might be too late,
cops seriously suck,
I can finally pull my hair back into a bun,
you've written two poems about me,
i like when we kiss two weeks or two months or never again.like the blond streak in my hair, we were in the same room on New Year's Eve.
I danced , you danced , but we didn't dance together.  I always complain that I don't write as much, but I don't think this really counts. This isn't completely what I want. I don't know what i want. i have your blue jumper. i hope to see you soon- i love you.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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