I’d Forgotten

Composed 4/6/13
Description: Another personal piece. Basically some thoughts I’ve been having lately.

I’d forgotten
I’d forgotten the good things about you
Your voice, your words
The laugh I can pick out of a crowd

I’d forgotten
Your mind, the wit and gravity
Mixed together
To make me laugh and sigh

I’d forgotten
The way my heart pounds when I think I’m on your mind
The nervousness swirling in my arms
A feeling closer to love
Than I’ve ever felt before

I know now
That I had my chance and I missed it
So many opportunities to show I cared
And it didn’t cross my mind
And I don’t know why

But the more I think
The more I am sure it was a way to save my heart
To end the cycle
Of smiles and hope and rejection

I’d forgotten
I’d forgotten the bad too
The way I seek your attention
Only to be met with a wall

I’d forgotten
How often I try to impress you
Be with you
When I think all is grand

I’d forgotten
The way my heart collapses
And I can’t breathe
When I sense your dismissal
And you make me feel like a fool

I am torn
Do I want you in my life?
Or will it just result in strife?
I’d forgotten
I almost love you
But you don’t love me

Troubling Thoughts

Composed 3/6/13
Description: A personal poem dealing with a situation (and feelings) that have passed on by now. However, in the spirit of documenting my life and feelings (which is a main point of this blog), I have decided to post it. Though I have moved past these feelings for the most part and therefore this poem is not totally relevant to me at the present time, I am sure many can relate, as such feelings are a common…

It’s irrational,
that skip of my heart,
the dread that consumes my body,
my soul,
when their attention shifts.

She’s shallow,
that little voice inside me,
the one that says to smile,
to say funny things,
to laugh.

For it is not for their admiration,
those little boys with their crushes,
that causes me such confliction,
such anguish;

I feel no particular longing for their specific traits,
their voice and their laugh,
their cleverness,
their long, slender frames;

It is the object of their affection,
one so similar to me,
that baffles and frustrates me,
that leaves me fuming and embarrassed.

For why do they not prefer me:
more daring and outspoken,
more flirty and willing,
while the other hides in shame at their approach,
finds no joy in the game,
in the drama?

But worse:
why should I feel the need to compete with their object,
my friend,
one whom I cherish like a sister,
when in truth I desire her to be happy,
to be loved and admired?

Is it the loneliness,
the fear of living life alone and unloved,
stemming freshly from rejection,
that feeds my insecurities,
my need to be noticed,
longed for?

Whatever the reason,
these feelings must stay printed on this page,
locked away,
forgotten,
for trouble would arise if such
troubling thoughts
were to be let loose and
set upon the world.