My Book



I wrote a book,

Yet you thought every word was about you,


You were completely oblivious to the fact that I had a past,

And people that I’ve loved and hurt before,

Or those that have loved or hurt me before


You completely forgot,

That my book had different characters


You may have been a chapter,

Or a page,

Or a paragraph,

Or a sentence


But do not make me to put down my ink,

Just because you think my whole story is about you


The Friend


Her friend said that she could always turn to her,

Yet when she did in her time of need,

She laughed at her



She held back the tears,

And let out a chuckle,

Not even knowing where it came from


The friend who was to hold her hand,

Pushed it back,

As soon as she reached out


The friend made her feel,

Like she was surrounded,

Yet lonely


The friend who was to wipe her tears,

Made her hold them back,

For another day


And when she walked away from her friend that day,

She knew that she would never turn back


Yet everyday,

She thinks back and wishes,

That all her friend could have said that day was,

‘I’m sorry, I’m here for you’


And maybe,

That day when she lost herself,

Could have only been part of a memory



She let go of him,

For another,

She thought was better

Years later,

She’s all alone,

Nothing is working

She has memories of what they used to be,

She wishes she could go back,

Yet its too late

Tears flow down her eyes,

She looks up,

Asking for another chance

Yet she let go,

And she’ll never have him back,

She’ll have to face another day,

Regretting her decision