Monday, October 12, 2015

Freedom writer

Never had I even known,
This desire I have,
The love I feel,
For all that's wrote,
And all to be written,
I long more for a pen,
Scrabbling across paper,
That I wish for,
Your fingertips on my skin,
Never had I guessed,
Ever in life I could find,
Something to love more,
Then you,
Yet when I found words,
When I fell for poetry,
I found that what I felt,
Was not close to love,
Merely a flirt,
When I am infatuated,
With the smell of,
Old books and paper towns,
With places that only exist,
Inside my head,
I am in love,
With every letter,
I seem to forget,
How to spell your name.

I can feel you forgetting me, but it doesn't matter,
For I no longer remember your name. 


















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