And here I am, a pathetic bun of messy hair. Writing
coffee shop poetry in table napkins because I'm "oh-so-artistic".
All I'm left with are thoughts, being forced into writing.
But tell me:
your dark amber eyes,
your intoxicating smile,
your voice like whiskey-
                                How do I write them?

Labels: i write about love sometimes, i wrote a poem, love

 You waited for me in the rain
In the parking lot
Cold hands, lips blue
Clothes stuck to you 

Andrew McMahon

 A confession:
Someday we'll be married
and everyone will hate us. Not you and me individually, but us, as a whole. Us together. And we won't care, because we're happy and as unconventional we may be, we are one - an odd mixture of unlikeliness. But after that we'll die. Atomic fission and we're two individuals again because I'll give in to pressure and you'll give up on me and I'll hurt you because I chose them over you and as you walk away you wait for my voice to call your name, wait for my voice to ask you to stay, wait for my touch: to hug you and beg you never to leave, but what you only hear are the faint click clacks of my stilettos, and silent sobs of self-loathe as I walk the other direction. I'm a coward. You don't deserve me, so take this confession as a warning. I'm not worth it.

longing sighs as he smiles while looking at his phone. im not even being subtle as i stare anymore