june 15th poems

(untitled)

She said,

“Just tell them what you told me,

That he broke your heart.”

But those words wouldn’t make them see,

Of it all they’d only tell one part.

I wanted desperately to tell her,

That those words could not convey

How much I long for what we once were

And the words I still want to say.

I hear now that my heart still beats.

But it’s my soul, myself; it’s me,

That weeps

(untitled 2)

I think everything you’ve done has made me a better poet

But I’d give anything just to write it down and throw it

Away, away until I didn’t even know it

Oh, how I long to be a terrible poet