In Case You're Reading This

A poem I wrote on my blog about a guy who used to frequent my blog before we went our separate ways.

If I could simplify a feeling,
I would write out every word
and make emotions easy reading
for people who act like cowards.

If a pencil could stitch me,
I would write until I'm whole
but no such thing could ever be,
leaving me to mourn what you stole.

But what my writing cannot heal,
I use to my advantage yet,
though you think I do not feel, 
I do and in fiction I show my regret.

There is a novel for every moment,
each telling a story waiting to be seen,
but in my imaginations I lament
ever thinking, "What might have been."

 

The End

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