He says he doesn’t mind,
I find that hard to believe.
At times,
I laugh at how ridiculous it all is,
I’d like to say my heart is mine,
But I know it’s all his.

I think of all the things I write,
I read over it a thousand times,
Yet it’s never right,
It’s never fully sublime.

I tend to get quite extreme,
But I swear it’s just in the spur of a moment,
I blame it on the dreams,
The things I see when I am dormant.

Sometimes I hate this feeling so much,
At other times I can’t stop,
I love it such,
I may be crazy,
But insanity is so easily thrown around these days,
And this feeling’s too glazy.

And if ever he thinks what he’s sacrificing is not enough,
I will tell him a thousand times,
That I am tough,
That reading it alone means more than any rhyme,
And that if he ever had the time to reply,
I would be dancing with the stars up in the sky.

I’d like to think he cares,
But who knows?
It’s not something I would easily dare,
To ask if he really does.
But he wouldn’t have been so kind,
If he hated me.
And I would’ve changed my mind,
If the facts were to disagree.

I would love to just say “thank you”,
For putting up with all I’ve put him through,
For reading everything I wrote,
For letting me dote,
And for allowing me to so freely say what I please.

Thank you...