Poem.
If she ever asks you..
If she ever asks you who
I was, tell her. Tell her
that I was just the friend.
As if our history never
was loved tied with red
string into a knot, as if
I was never tongue tied
when I first met you.
Tell her when you first
met that I never was pretty,
so she wouldn't glare at me
in the raw emotions of envy
and jealousy wrapped in
engima because it was so
puzzling to find it under
such a pretty smile of a girl.
Tell her our lives was crossed
with hate and never with love.
So the fires wouldn't burn me
again as you tell her I was the ex.
Don't you ever tell her how our
lips made poetry, how the words
will only sink into her skin as if
there sharp knives were meant
to always have been there.
Instead tell her, how every freckle
on her cheek is like a kiss from an
angel, how stars are made in the
universe, tell her, her eyes are
like pools of water and it's so
tempting since she is so beautiful
like a siren that you're is willing to
drown just for her, she will fill in
the holes and replace my scent off
your coats and shirts, she'll know.
She'll know who I was because,
she asked and you would say
strangers, and because we
already grown apart, ripped
the stitchings off our hands.
Because, we never had history
in the first place did we?
Poem. If she ever asks you.. If she ever asks you who I was,
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·
Nov 2, 2015 6:49pm
