As I Sit Here - Poem by Valerie Anderson
As I sit here.
And think about today.
And you came to me.
And to you I had nothing to say.
I just think about all the good times.
And how we used to make up our own poems.
And how nothing we said made sense or had rhymes.
But those we the best things in my life.
How we would roll on my floor and laugh.
We would hold each other tight when we were in need of consolement.
How we would cry together when we couldn't smile or laugh.
Those were good times also.
But those days came and went.
You soon called me awful and horrid names.
It hurt so bad, but I knew that wasn't what you meant.
But I never felt right because you never said sorry.
You started to ignore me.
And never answered my phone calls.
And made me feel like a pesky little flee.
You never cared for me after all.
After everything we went through.
You were rid of me for good.
You were a bird and away you flew.
I thought to myself, it is just a phase.
He'll so realize how much I care for him.
But try as I might, you never listened to me again.
You hurt me as you pushed me aside like just a whim.
I thought to myself how could I ever care for him?
I now wish to back track time.
Back to when we used to giggle and laugh.
In rhythm to my butterfly wind chime.
That would tinkle in the slightest breeze.
You moved away and shunned me.
Never again did you listen or talk.
Never again did you even give time to me.
You just make fun of and to me you mock.
And now as I lay upon the floor.
I wish day after day, that sometime, just maybe.
Maybe if we had stayed together, our relationship would have grown to something more.
Maybe we would have laughed and cried together for a few months more.
And now as I lay upon my bed.
And think about what we used to do.
I am sure you have misplaced your oversized head.
Someday you'll come back to me.
I know you will.
Comments about As I Sit Here by Valerie Anderson
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye