On Falling
You told me I was beautiful
so damn often
I believed it.
You told me I was smart
so damn often
I believed it.
You told me I was amazing
so damn often
I believed it.
So soft-spoken are you,
that I hang onto each syllable,
that swan dives off of your tongue.
I crave your similes and metaphors,
like an age-old druggie,
craves their heroin.
I know it will destroy me,
to love you,
but I do so willingly.
Your dark hair and hazel eyes,
your freckles and your infectious smile,
are enough to ensnare me.
I hate writing love poetry,
but the only other way,
was to dig the words out of my veins.
But I will carry on,
dragging the burden of loving you,
through the winter snow.
Maybe, come springtime,
you will reach for me,
when you start to fall.
so damn often
I believed it.
You told me I was smart
so damn often
I believed it.
You told me I was amazing
so damn often
I believed it.
So soft-spoken are you,
that I hang onto each syllable,
that swan dives off of your tongue.
I crave your similes and metaphors,
like an age-old druggie,
craves their heroin.
I know it will destroy me,
to love you,
but I do so willingly.
Your dark hair and hazel eyes,
your freckles and your infectious smile,
are enough to ensnare me.
I hate writing love poetry,
but the only other way,
was to dig the words out of my veins.
But I will carry on,
dragging the burden of loving you,
through the winter snow.
Maybe, come springtime,
you will reach for me,
when you start to fall.