Sitting remembering,
Happy and sad times together.
Listening to love songs,
Wishing for a feeling that strong.
Wondering why you haven't yet.
Sitting timidly wishing for him.
The bad boy,
Who is secretly smart,
And sweet,
But openly funny and rude.
The boy who hides the fact,
That he actually feels things.
Sitting.
Hoping he'll change his mind.
Hoping he'll want to be more,
But knowing that it won't happen.
So you just sit and dream...
Sitting, dreaming.
You are happy at least,
To know he does care,
Even if it isn't the kind of caring,
You crave.
Sitting.
Eventually you know you have to,
Tell him about the demons in your head,
You know he suspects them,
By seeing the welts,
On your swollen bloodshot wrist.
He doesn't know he caused them.
Sitting, thinking.
Thinking how to tell him.
Tell him about the creatures,
That crawl in your head,
Screaming, seeking, attacking.
The creatures you battle everyday,
They replay it all,
Over and over.
Sitting, just to give in and go inside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem