Every song in my iTunes is starting to sound the same.
‘Candles in the Sun’ still makes me cry.
I ride the bus to learn how to blend in.
I chopped off 9 inches from my hair so people would stop complimenting me
I wear dark lipstick as a forewarning, yet men still come flocking
“There’s an excitement in danger” they say.
This poem started off not being about you
but you are still the last person I kissed.
Is it weird if I say that I still pretend my pillow is the curve of your shoulders sometimes?
Most nights, I tie my hands behind my back
for a lesson in how to stop reaching for you.
I’m sorry I only text you when I’m drunk and want to apologize
it’s just, I’m asking you to learn how
to take this as a compliment.
For when my mind is degenerated to that of a toddler
lacking all inhibition and self control
I still yearn for you
and only you.
- Everything I Write Ends Up Being About You- K. Wagner (via th3gr0wnupchild)