Love hurts so bad,
I look at these old pictures of me
and my smile
and I wonder
Was that me before I concerned myself with boys?
No, sadly, no.
Those pictures were not old enough.
But my smile was so golden and genuine.
My heart must’ve been proud of itself
for not thinking of materialistic love
and remaining happy.
Solitude
can be heaven or hell.
What does your heart pride on?
Independence?
Or Acceptance?
You decide.
But for once I’d like my own genuine happiness
to share only with me
so I can’t get hurt.
Why is sharing it with someone else
so wonderful?
Well not so wonderful,
but wonderful for that moment or two.
Has your heart been intoxicated,
by the alcohol primarily known as hormones?
Or are you just a sucker?
It won’t ever matter how self-reliant you are
as long as there’s an urn pumping blood and oxygen throughout your body.
You’ll fall prey to it too.
And then you’ll see your love a few times.
Then inconviences plays a role,
and you’re able to see that person less.
And it kills you inside.
Then you’ll be like me.
You’ll look at your old pictures and wonder,
Where is my proud heart?