Why Don't You Love Me?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


You can't make someone love you.

Submitted: October 28, 2017

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Submitted: October 28, 2017

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Loving someone who doesnt love you back is like squeezing a pin cushin full of pins. The scars on my body are supposed to remind me to protect my heart but i fail again and again. The things you do and say stain memories in the depths of my soul. You want me, but you don't. My mind is cooking with frustration, changing it little by little like the sun cooks your skin into different shades untill you no longer resemble yourself. I have nothing left to give as I was a fool to give everything. And why? Why don't you love me? You say it's not normal that you found yourself missing me one day but I, I can't even fall back asleep in the same bed when you leave for work because my whole body reacts to the acknowledgement that you're no long by my side. I cry waiting for your return hoping with all my heart that you might miss me just for you to come home and pay more attention to your phone, and I get to act like everything is fine; knowing that if I expressed how I really feel, you'd just grow farther from me. I want to tell you that I'm hungry so you'll give me a few moments of your time, but I'm not hungry. I can't eat when I feel like this. You say you care and like me and want a future with me and don't want me to move but then you just throw me marijuana and food and a phone to keep me occupied so you can tend to yourself untill you feel like acknowledging my existance. You can lay staring at nothing and still not hear a word I say. And even though I can only say it perfectly the first time, I try to repeat it because it's so important to me, just for you to have no reply or an argument. The things I say to you are very very important if it has to do with my feelings because you couldn't believe how much I keep to myself no matter how much I want you to understand. You are heroin to my heart; Addictive and deadly. The more I have of you, the less affective you choose to be and the more I painfully chase the high. When I don't have you, It's constant tears of withdraw untill days go by and the pain of my addiction to you subsides little by little; untill you come back, to which I can't seem say no, and it starts all over. I've lived through this before. Why must I do this to myself? The sad truth is, people don't just change for you because you did for them. People don't just love you because you love them. People don't just miss you because your heart is aching for them. I just don't understand how throwing such strong emotions towards someone doesn't make them feel something. You jump into their view desperately trying to express your love or hurt just through your eyes, and they look through you like glass. And you wonder...would they even realize what they're seeing if they took a moment to look? No. They wouldn't because no matter how important you try to make yourself, they see you through the fishnet filter of their own problems and friends. You will never be clear or on top. Not in their eyes. No matter how clearly and colorful you see them, you are nothing more than another blurred image of just another person they've come across. You're putting your whole heart and soul into someone that will one day say that you're just someone they used to know. They don't care what your interests are. They dont care to see the passions you've worked so hard on. They're the top of your list and theyre also the last person to see the things you're so proud of. Open your eyes and see reality for what it is and not what you hope it will be. Look at your scars. You're still alive by self control mixed with luck but if you keep doing this to your heart and mind...it will eventually kill you. Even though I've come to realize all of this. My heart is still a desperate fool searching for companionship. So when you get home and call me your girlfriend, hug me, and then fall asleep. I will wait with foolish hope, wondering how much attention i will recieve today. I will tell you I wrote a poem and you won't ask to hear it; and on the off chances that you do, may the lord have mecry on my heart, because God forbid what you might feel when my heart really begins to speak. Please, if you read or hear this, tell me I'm wrong.


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