My favorite number is eleven.
You left me on the seventh.
Back to one,
only a pair has two.
My birthday month is May.
Oh, five.
No rhyming words or equations could ever have made you stay.
–S.
Tag: dedicated-to-the-messy-middle
Love in Cycles.
Broken.
Poison.
Frozen.
Open.
Ocean.
Motion.
Chosen.
Woven.
Golden.
–S.
Masterpiece.
You’re a masterpiece.
You bring others peace.
No bitterness, you bring release.
You do everything with ease.
No appetizer, you’re a whole feast.
A new outlook, a new lease.
Ironed, not a single crease.
You make melancholy cease.
You’re a masterpiece.
–S.
Baggage Claim.
I wait for you.
Like I think I’m supposed to.
You dropped me off one day,
and now it’s way past curfew.
Days pass, weeks, and eventually months too.
I sit like I’m in a church pew.
Who is coming for my rescue?
Am I still on your menu?
If you’ve crossed the ocean,
I can make it by canoe.
I wait for you.
Like I thought I was supposed to.
You were never coming back, were you?
–S.
Tradition.
One wrong move and it’s all tumbling down.
52 cards, face down, on the ground.
Your love has always been conditional.
I guess, that’s what we kept traditional.
It’s never been the most sturdy.
You’re always assessing me in a hurry.
I can never be anything new –
because what you thought of me,
was the only thing that could ever be true.
–S.
Stay for a little while.
For my heart, you’re a maze.
I see you, through a haze.
You burn me, like a blaze.
My head is in a fucking craze.
Starving for you, but I’m just allowed to graze.
Time removes the glaze.
Nothing ever stays.
–S.
Run.
I run.
I turn every corner.
Mix up the number of lefts,
and the number of rights.
Down the hills,
and up the stairs in flights.
I run,
but it doesn’t matter how many turns,
or how fast – even when my sides burn,
because I always run right into myself.
I change up the paths, but they’re never any help.
–S.
What do you think?
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with acne scars that are hard not to notice.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with internal monologues that don’t lean towards bliss.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with eyes reflecting murky brown irises.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with big wrists.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
with a tendency to vanish.
Do you think you could love me just like this?
Oh, how I wish.
–S.
The Messy Middle 🖤 