For those who worry,
don't.

My nature is poetry,
To hurt myself I could, but won't.

All I do is write and write until I can't anymore,
But once that fuel dies out, the words become an eyesore.

It's hard to put feelings into words,
but poetry often symbolizes miswords.

So I'm sorry if you don't understand,
But nothing bad is planned,
I follow rules but no command.
Lastly, I do not feel stranded on an island.

So for those who worry,
don't.

My nature is poetry,
To hurt myself I could, but won't.

The tears in my eyes have not yet to fall
Because I remember when I do cry, I don't cry but bawl.
Then I structure and build a great wall
And grow and grow in reverse, anything but big, oh so small.

The hair in my face still glistens as it snows
My blinking eyes flicker at the reminder that it's me you chose.
The cheeks on my face as red as a rose,
But thoughts in my mind, as they quickly slow.

Makes me wonder, what are our plans?
Will you leave as the tears on my face dance?
Would you ever give me a second or third or fourth chance?
Will there ever be another incident where we touch hands?

Am I overthinking already?
I'm so sorry, I'll try and go steady.
My thoughts can be so destructive and deadly.
But I can promise you that someday I'll be ready.

ＪＪｓｂｄｋｓｎｄｋｋｄｍｘｍｊｓｈＪｕｓｔｌｅｔｍｅｄｉｅｍｍｍｋｂｈｂｘｊｄｎｘｎｂｄｊｘｂｄｎｘｎｎｘｎｘｎＩｍｓｏｔｉｒｅ­ｄｏｆｔｈｉｓｎｓｊｓ ｎｋｋｓｂｄｎｄｎｂｄｔｈｅｓｅ ｔｅａｒｓ ｗｏｎｔｓｔｏｐｊｄｊｄｎｎ ｚｎｊｓｎｎｄｕｄｎｄｋｄｋｎｆｋｄｍｓｓｎｆｎｊｄｎｄｎｎｄｂｄｂｄｂｄｎＷｈｙｔｈｅｐａｉｎｓｔｉｌｌｌｉｖｅｓｉｎ ｍｙｈｅａｒｔｊｊｘｎｘｊｘｊｄｎ ｍｙｋｄｊｄｖｊｓｎｄｊｃｊｎｄｎｄｎｃｎｘｋｘｎｋｘｎｄｋｄｋｊｄｎｓｋｘｈｊｓｈｄｊｄｄｎｄｅＩｍｓｏｆｕｃｋｉｎｇｔｉｒｅｄ­ｍｓｎｎｄｋｓｎｘｏｎｓｈｘｉｄｎｋｘｎｄｊｓｊｄｂｊｄｋｓｌｍｓｎｄｊｊｄｂｄｉｓｂｄｊｊｄｋｓｎｄｊｄｈｂｓｎｄｎｎｄｊｄｊｄ­ｎｄｎｄ


Ｙｏｕｌｌｎｅｖｅｒｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ ｍｅ

For however many petals I've picked,
For however many spells I've wicked,
For however many clocks I've ticked,
For however many needles I've pricked,
I still think about you.