I look at her.
She looks at me, I look away.
I look at her, she looks away.
Day after day, I sit on the bench
and day after day, we go back and forth.
I know I like her.
I know she likes me,
but there's a chance I'm wrong,
and I can't face denial.
Not again.
It hurts to come back,
day after day,
to the same bench, and see her sit there.
I love her, yet I can do nothing about it.
So I slide my rose across the bench,
a note attached that took me hours to get right.
It says simply:
"I love you."
I walk away.
Author notes
He doesn't turn back when he walks away,
nor does he come back the next day.
A contest entry
- The TITLE contest...show me how clever you are... by Demington.
700 points, ended March 24, 2008, 11 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
*coughs nervously* Well . . . ?
Comments
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If you say this is not a poem then I will not critique it as so. All I will say is that your thoughts are quite poetic....
Good thinking!
Blessings,
C
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This shit is the shit. lol. Like literally I love the heck out of this poem! I love it so freakin much OMG! Can I put the url of this poem on my profile?? It's the best thing in the world! Who's it about???
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