This Is What The Edge Of Your Seat Is Made For
Poem By megan ann s.
I've come to terms with the fact that they don't like me,
or better yet- I don't like myself.
All I can hope for now is just a glimpse of sincerity.
It wasn't those misleading looks,
or the constant turning of my stomach that lead me off.
It couldn't have been those whispers that clung to my conscience,
or that unconvincing smile attached to them.
Almost in constant battle,
Need to get past this,
Or are we, and I can't stop looking back?
These days replies are only a sentence long.
And minds can only wonder so far...
It's at our worst that we beg for the most,
Is that what this is?
A sigh, a hand of pity?
Our situation breaks and becomes too elegant
Too fragile to hold on to,
But we can't let go just yet- lets make something out of this.
We'll all line up, just to see her smile.
Boy you make her smile,
I bet they don't see the potential in this.
There's silence in that plastered heart of hers,
but theres only misery in mind.
What's there left to conquer?
We don't all break just for you- oh, wouldn't you wish.
Perhaps, there's too much being over looked.
Maybe it was the thought of you twisting at my veins,
the sight of you crawling behind my eyes,
and the taste of you, oh the taste of your lips...
No one's left to witness this.