You’ve changed your nose.
It looks good, I’m not gonna lie.
You wear better clothes,
You’ve found your style.
And for a while, I forget why I ever left.
But you open your mouth
And your stories are a broken record
Of mistakes you cannot move from.
And then I remember
Beneath the beauty and bluster
Is the same you.
I tried fixing your heart
and you let me.
Out of kindness, I suppose.
Who knows?
But upon careful examination,
My unfavorable conclusion
Is that your heart’s not broken.
It just doesn’t beat for me.
You’re the almost to my maybe
The missed boat to my open sea
The one risk I haven’t had the chance to take
The best decision I have yet to make.
Timing can ruin even the best songs
One misstep can lead to all sorts of wrongs
But what’s a song if it’s not sung?
And what is us if we haven’t even begun?
Your face is a poem.
With eyes that dance to a meter,
and lips that speak in rhyme.
I sometimes understand you.
But mostly, I find you open to interpretation.
That is your secret,
and I am endlessly fascinated.
I am a wound ball of string, but with your slightest touch,
I fall and unravel.
A single slip and I am back to untangling
the mess that you make of my heart.
It was the same road,
But a different direction.
It was the same words,
But a different intention.
When I look back
I find myself in contention
If all that ever was
my mind’s own creation.
Make Room for Poetry 