February - Before

You love the poems

That I write for you.

Do you also love

The feelings I have

For you?

I think that you don't,

As you don't know who is.

You asked who they were for,

I told you it's a secret.

And instead of pressuring me

To tell you the truth

All that you did

Was give me your truth.

You don't know how much

Your words mean to me.

You're addicted to my poems,

But I don't believe your words.

That doesn't stop them from meaning,

Especially when you're a meanie.

Except you aren't,

You told me that yourself.

Most people don't know this,

But inside you are so fluffy.

All you do is hide

Behind spikes and dark eyes.

They think you're a rebel,

You say you don't mind.

Inside you're a softie,

Your words, not mine.

You told me this in trust,

I'm glad you trust me, too.

I wish that I could utter

The simple words that haunt me.

Something so simple

As saying "I love you".

But the words don't come out,

Those stupid three words.

Eight letters, three words.

All I have to do

Is say eight letters, three words.

Something so simple

As saying "I love you"

Isn't so simple

When I look at your face.

You sent me a picture

You think I haven't seen.

I try not to die

When I look at those brown eyes.

They draw me in

Like nothing I've ever seen

I also love your boots,

The ones you think they hate.

But I think they are perfect,

I think they're just great.

You write poems yourself,

You sent me them in trust,

But now I won't shut up.

No wonder your words

Hypnotize me so much,

As the way you write

Comes from deep within your heart.

You say you love poems,

I say that I love you.

I hope one day you see it,

The boy that I won't name

He's closer than you realize;

You know him very well.

My poems are addicting,

At least they are to you.

I wish I could tell you,

I wish you found out soon.

I wish they weren't real,

But they're all based on you.