First poem on here. Not the first written, haha. But the first I felt like a really wanted to share. I honestly just wrote this, on a whim. The rhyme scheme is different, I know. It has a very specific rhythm to it.
Putting up my hair.
It’s a mess and I don’t really care.
And it’s not fair- those eyes, that hair;
The little things, encompassing you.
Making you you, because, of course, who
else could I see?
The little similarity
that starts the spark,
has a rippling effect, a bias
that spreads, infecting you.
And yes- I think of what to say.
The logistics of this game we play.
little teases and shadowed flirts.
Open my eyes right, close tight.
Squeeze out the images that rest
in the back of my mind
like an overt disease.
A tease-
that look. You hold my gaze.
But then I see you look away.
Laugh. Say something, run astray.
Make me think that the stare
wasn’t fair to me,
so I sit and glare at my computer screen,
And dream, and dream, and dream
And dream.
Sit and run over every theme
Of conversation, a blaring scream.
A memory, inside of me.
The images are faded black,
but It would seem I have a knack
for lingering on broken things:
I’ll say that I can't help but cling
To times gone lost and what they bring.
These thoughts, they echo,
they ring and ring.
And I find I’m putting up my hair,
and it’s a mess.
I’m trying hard not to care.
