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Oh Boy with the King’s name,
The owner of my soul,
The North to my compass,
The shackles to my heart.
You made sure I was tamed,
By the sweet tones of your words,
By the sweet notes of your lingering perfume,
By the sweet touch of your overnight coffee.
Oh Boy with the wandering eyes,
Hardworking as ever,
Making your name in your small town.
Hard-hearted as ever,
You made your heart my home and locked me out,
My roots tangled to your doorstep,
And through your window I saw your back,
Not caring, not looking.
My Boy with the rarest name,
My Boy with the careless eyes,
When you planted your seed in my home,
Did you know the monstrosity that would grow out of it—
The ruin, the wreckage, the garden gone to ash?
When the edge of you found its way to mine,
Did you know the absence of your warmth afterwards,
Would end up leaving me dying from the cold?
My Love,
Tell me,
Was our tragedy an accident,
Or was it always meant to be like this?
250908 / i love you, i'm sorry – gracie abrams
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He resided in the stork’s village, carried a name like a king, and walked in the shadow of another man’s throne. That’s the boy I wrote about. Funnily, he was the only guy I've ever been in love with, and I only wrote a few poems (<10) for him (I wrote hundreds for a guy I had a crush on for 8 years). And this is the last one for him. Maybe.
You were a dick but I was too. Less of a dick than you, though.
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