Drowning in a pool of uncertainity…
I just cried and I’m not quite sure if they were tears of sorrow
Or happiness.
The last time I wrote poetry
I thought I had given up on love.
As far as I was concerned, it was
Unattainable.
Don’t remember much of my childhood but love
Couldn’t have been a big part of it.
It’s too cliche,
Everyone talks about it all the time;
And the walking contradiction—that is me— wants no part of it
Yet I want to understand it.
They say practice makes perfect so I figured
The more I try, the better I’d be at it.
At this love thing; loving someone and being loved by someone
How do you know when it’s perfect ?
How do I know that you’re worth it ?
How do you know that I’m worth it ?
The last time I wrote poetry—
This is all I ever write about…
