It is of course made up on the spot, this poem, not these feelings.
These feelings that writhe in an agony of hope,
painful in their potential joy,
hazardous to the heart and risky to a relationship,
Torn in two I am,
broken by indecision and unsurety,
not knowing how and who to talk with,
screaming for help in a silent plea for love,
Crying myself to sleep for what seems an impossibility but is just possible enough not to ignore
So take your shallowness,
your fondness for being appropriate,
and shove them up your
Asked I wish I was,
but ask it seems I must.
But I can't.
Not just yet.
Did you spot this week's three word Wednesday words: bribery, clobber, sceptical ?
