As your lips slid across mine,
No worries arose.
However now as I sit
Creating horrendous pieces
To be dubbed poetry,
Speaking of doubt, of worry,
Of fear of loss,
All I wish to do
Each minute that passes,
Without a reply from you,
Makes little portions of my heart
To disintegrate slowly
All that’s left
Is a void.
If you happen to come across this
One day, long from now,
Wondering why tears would flow
When such a joyous union would occur,
Has it not occurred to you that
One would need emotional reassurance
That this so-called relationship
Would last—that after our first
Shared kiss, I’d want at least
A farewell before my unbidden repose?
Tonight, if no reply ensues,
Perhaps tears would rock my body
To sleep, instead of your calm voice.
Perhaps my company will be nothing
But the poetry that only succeeds
In bringing about more grief.
Perhaps I shall die.
I do not wish to test you,
But I fear if I do not—
I fear that… perhaps later on
When I’m even further in,
I’d be hurt more than I am now.
However there is a side
That wishes to not do this,
To not have such an inane challenge
Such as the one in mind.
As if you fail to pass,
Would I die anyway?
I have very meaningless worries,
But are they so worthless?
Am I wrong to hope
That as I sit here,
Composing this about you,
I am to hope that you are thinking of me?
Preposterous is it? For maybe you aren’t
And I’m just… just there.
For your enjoyment.
Is that it?
A few more moments have passed—
Do you even realize the extent of my pain?
The tears that leak for you?
It’s better that you don’t.
This journal is not for your eyes
For it is a look into my very core.
And if you saw what was truly in there,
I am afraid that whatever you find
May not be pleasing.
If you reject me then,
Then I’ll know it’s for the true me.
Which would hurt immensely more
Than if you rejected this shell
I wish to show myself to you,
But how am I supposed to
When these uncertainties arise
As they have wont to do?
Do not use me, my darling.
Hurt me if you must,
Just don’t use me
Or I’ll surely expire inside
Possibly with you remaining oblivious.
But perhaps it is best kept that way.
I miss you
It kills me to admit it
As you may not reciprocate
Such moot emotions.
Where is my knight?