Poems

Words I’d like to call art.

Down

i fell for you and now ive lost it

we’ve had our highs but now were falling

weve had our fair shares of nothings

now i stare up at the ceiling

down the road i know that we’re something

most time I’m scared that i’ve let you

we claim more than we can equip

everyday i hope that we’d just slow

hopefully i’ll see you feel it

one day you’ll find me reeling

but i’ll still be sitting here waiting

I don’t like calling my art poems though much might say so, I never think that my silly little writings are ever good enough to be called “art” I always thought that, that would make actual poets felt invalidated. But if art is whatever the artist thinks is, then I’d like to think that this is art.

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