I Fall

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Dramaticrabbit's avatar
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A/N: I had just written this poem... its about my troubles with love. I hope you enjoy!
EDIT 9/10/14: Reworded the poem a bit.

I fall.

And when I fall I always get hurt.

I fell for a guy in my grade who had said to me he didn't like me back. Since that 8th grade dance he stopped talking to me.

I fell for a guy who was a grade above me and when I told him my feelings he rejected me just like the last... and he, too, never really talked to me again.

And one day in August of 2014 a guy told me he liked me. I was shocked and excited.

How does someone like him like a girl like me?

I fell.

I fell for him like sand going through a sifter, leaving out the parts of me I didn't want anyone to see.

We were talking on Facebook, with the baby talking and the flirting that I didn't even know I had in me.

But one day, I had realized he only wanted me for one thing.

The one thing guys think about and other girls give in to. But I'm not like that.

My heart broke into a million pieces that day.

Why are women just a tool to most guys?

They say Lynn is the city of sin but really men want to sin by violating women's bodies everyday.

So isn't there sin everywhere?

But there is one guy that I have a crush on who had said he wasn't ready for a relationship. He is my best friend, and we talk all the time.

So, I would rather have a crush on a guy who is my best friend and wants to remain friends rather than be someone's toy.

I would rather be alone than to have a false hope.

I fall.

And when I fall, I want someone to catch me next time.

© 2014 - 2024 Dramaticrabbit
Comments3
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Detonation-Imminent's avatar
I'm one of those people who wants poetry to say as few things as humanly possible so as to allow the message to be inferred and not stamped clearly onto one's face. It reads more like prose rather than poetry for me simply because of all the information you give (ie., "One day in August of 2014").

That isn't to say, of course, that the message is any less poignant; it's nostalgic. It reminds me of my teen years and makes me sigh wistfully. My critique is that I would like to see fewer words so that you can say more with less, and then you would have a more effective piece.