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untitled


It seems like all I ever write

Are pieces about love and hurt.

Writers write what they know,

So what does that say about me?

That I don't really know what love is?

That I'm young and naive

And I let myself be duped?

Perhaps.

Or perhaps I've witnessed it and learned.

I watched friends give everything

To people who changed their minds.

I watched people lose themselves

In the process.

I've seen and felt the confusion

Of trying to distinguish

Between infatuation

And love.

Yes, I am young.

Yes, I have much to learn.

But no, I am not a silly schoolgirl.

No, I am not what you think.

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