i can't tell
if i'm taking everything you say to me
and twisting it to fit my narrative
or if i might actually have a chance.
maybe i should invest in a few grains of salt.

if i had to say
who i’ve filled the most pages for
it wouldn’t be the boy
with the hazel eyes
who will probably never realize how i feel;
or the boy with money
who barely remembers my name;
or even the boy who’s with my best friend.
no, if i really counted,
i’ve written the most about a blue-eyed boy with a lisp and a broken heart, who i’ve only ever truly met once.

Now there were two of them
Separated between thousands
of read texts and timely
chats touched by sound
but not skin  
Awake in the others sleeping
Sleeping in the others awake  
Restless as they wait
Restless as they wait

i sit for hours
trying to write something beautiful
and worthy of the world,
but all that comes from my heart
are nonsense poems about you.