Before you came around, I never knew How it felt, To truly feel Alone. I never knew Just how much It would pain me To sit in this house, All on my own. Now this is not to say That I feel this way With resentment. And as I speak, I am not negative in tone. The loneliness is pleasant When contrasted With that rush of glee I feel every time I know you’re finally home.
I write horrible, non-consistent poetry.
You would think That with the things I have And the things I’ve done And the life I lead— I should be more grateful. But where I come up short, And when I have to fight, Battles that no one fought, I can’t help but make Comparisons And it makes me feel Extremely hateful. Not all of the time, But now and then, When I feel my worst. I can’t help but think, Some pretty awful...