Do you like me with all my clothes off
only because
that's the closest you can get to
my naked soul?
(With all my masks off)

Whenever you pick up your clothes
from the floor, do you pick up my
invisible love letters I traced on your
chest, or the tissues with bottled up
blotched emotions?

You say you're proud of who I am
but you only stick my photographs
on the fridge door with my trophies,
not my tragedies.

If you leave me,
I'll cherish the poems
on you and your love
which once gave me
goosebumps, but now
reminds me of your touch.

I wish I was just a blinking cursor
not a string of words
that sew the holes of my sweater
with the lies you weave.

~~~
A/N

Bunch of thoughts not big enough to make dedicated poems.