Maybe you won’t
say you love me
in a way I’d believe,
besides, who’s counting the petals
she loves me,
she loves me not.
To the girl
who started following today
your love of water
is all together
something I could touch and feel.
The newness in words,
she struggles still
with the weight of the world
always expecting her
to meet certain life markers.
When will you..
or when are you going to…
It’s only when
those types of questions fade
she can comfortably live
in her well manicured skin.
This poem today
written on my phone
I’m trying to kill time, waiting.
I can’t stop thinking
how that pretty girl
fell in love
with the feel of water.
I wonder if,
it matters not,
the temperature between
feeling like she belongs
holding on to her familiar things
or does she embrace the unknown
taking pretty chances.
Can she stand the heat
as the water slowly turns
from a tepid look
to a blood cursing boil.
Love denied,
meant something was asked
and at this hour
as I sit here waiting
she’s all I can think about.
Very good point
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The flowers blossom each spring
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How many petals left to count..is it new ones or the same being recounted over and over.. sometimes a girl wonders
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