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the words i've written
Folder:
turning points the words i’ve written, every one,
were feeble attempts at your heart,
mindfully penned stains on papyrus,
though conspicuously childish.
i wrote them as a boy,
i made them come to be,
in hopes that you would find them
and hope to be with me.
i weaved within them all my heart,
though i suppose i weaved in vain,
for i am not the man you want
to take away your pain.
the words i’ve written, every one,
meant too little to impress,
the more they meant to me, it seems,
the more they meant you less.
the words i’m writing, just these ones,
i wrote so that you knew,
the words i write from here on out
will not be words for you.
