This makes, A Dozen and One
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nyimaYoung writer filled with anxious words
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
Another poem for you, I hate that the best things I write are centered around you

This makes, A Dozen and One

by nyima

By now I could fill up a grave

with the words I’ve wasted on You. I don’t mean to sound deranged It’s not like we were anything, anyways. Anyways,

I’m inspired by Your pretentious intentions,

or lack thereof, And now here we are On lives two songs about You and maybe a dozen poems I’ve even painted emotions, in Your name. I’m aware I’m feeding into Your ego,

Adding to Your repertoire,

Another girl has fallen prey to Your ways You’ve got a hard-on for a crying face Well congratulations You’ve made another girl hate herself for loving You, that’s so fucked up

Really, You’re fucked up.

I’m intrigued by Your certain, uncertainty. Certainly I’m curious What are You searching for? You know all there is to know yet, You are left so terribly unsatisfied God, I envy Your pride

How can You still stand

after You refused to beg on Your knees? I would have pleaded to even get a chance with You in another lifetime Even if we met as two dragonflies, I would have been mesmerized,

And I’d have wings which is better than me, currently

What am I saying? You are so enlightened that this time You are sure to get Your ticket to Nirvana. Horse-Shit Being someone with so much intellect How can You neglect

The one thing in life that You truly need to perfect?

A disastrous reason to deny Yourself of human nature An empty heart breeds nothing but empty shells, empty tables, empty beds. What grows inside Your head? Obviously not flowers for me,

No peonies or dasies

Tell me what deities command You, Honey-bee? Who’s Your Creator, Sweet-pea? What do You believe? I don’t even believe. What are You searching for? And why can You not find it in me?

I fail to see, what You, Yourself, want to be.

You’re honestly not as profound as You gleam I can tell You’ve been perched against Your laurels for too long Your calves are too weak, You are beginning to look too fragile,

Even my mom can see

And I might have to learn how to read braille You see, I’ll need to touch You for You to understand exactly what You lack. I think we are meant to be? Red hot irony

I'm just as fucked up as - You seem

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