i’m not an easy person to love. there are lots of times when i’m a very good boyfriend, but there are times when i’m useless. i mean, i’m a mess around the house. i talk nonstop. i become obsessed with things.
I don’t want to write about now.
I’m trying to write this poem but I can’t.
I just can’t seem to get the words on this piece of paper.
And it’s really not that weird because you see;
How can I get words on paper
if I don’t even want them in my head?
On paper I’m trying to form these
supposedly beautiful sentences
but in my head I’m tearing them apart.
Deep down I know every single word
I want to write but
I just can’t.
Because writing means realizing.
Writing means digging deep down inside of me.
Clawing down to each painful memory
and ripping out the words meant to adorn
And I can’t do that.
I can’t take out my beating heart
and scrape out all the beautiful words,
just for you.
I still want to give you wonderful things
But you have already taken the best pieces of
Sometimes all that is left to be said
is written on empty paper.