Poem 76

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23

when she was eight,
there was a thing called true love
that brought her to tears
and made her hope for the prince
to one day come sweep her off
her miserable feet.

he had soft hands, gentle smile
and a clueless personality
that only heard what he saw
and never saw what he wasn’t shown.

they were kids,
at eight.

when she was ten,
crushes became a hype
that everyone needed to have.

she had him
along with others.

he had a tall build,
an age two years older
with taste in books she tried
and a knack for sports she beat.

he was taken
by a friend.

when she was twelve,
all her confidence brought her head high up,
her presence more prominent.
she was seen while she watched.

he had glasses,
not the nerd, but quite her match.
he was kind, too kind
and made poor choices when it came to making friends.

he was a bully’s best friend
and she was the victim.

when she was thirteen,
he was 12. his smile was the same
but the innocence long gone.

he was taken
and she was afraid.

when she was fifteen,
pride was her companion,
she was too smart, a goody two shoes
who completed everything
and volunteered for anything
except going out with friends.

she went to school,
went home,
went to school
while he sometimes played hooky.
he had a stern stare
that shook her at every turn.

he was beneath her,
or so she thought.

when she was sixteen,
he was there, still playing hooky,
still being stern.
he didn’t know her
but she knew of him.

and for four years
they met eyes,
each time she looked away.

she was afraid
of being right.

he was her best friend,
her other half.
he was a promise,
broken and untrue.

he didn’t choose her
and she pretended to be okay.

when she was seventeen,
fear took over pride,
and fear remained.
love was a thing that no one could have,
break ups happened,
lies were told.
her family broken,
her will completely shattered.

he was there to catch her fall,
but came at such a poor time.

she was afraid,
of so many things.

when she was seventeen,
fear and pride
were set aside.
where she was empty,
she filled it of him.

she was in love,
but afraid to love.

he was her light
after all the tragedies
and torn things.
his hands seemed protective
when he placed them on top her head.
his smile was forgiving,
but never for her.

yet she was in love,
and took a leap.

when she was twenty three,
love was an empty word.

she’d been liked
by so many guys she never thought to look at,
all of them good,
all of them right.

he had told her she was a coward.
he had said she was blind.

they told her,
and she didn’t listen.

she was admired,
and she hadn’t seen
just like they hadn’t seen.

twenty three years and counting.

author’s note. don’t get me wrong; it’s been a nice 23 years of single life. i’ve learned so many things and still learning. but i wonder what it would be like to share lives with someone other than friends or family. what is it like to have mutual feelings and be able to act on them? what is it like to love and be loved back?

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