I have a picture
I stare at next to my broken mirror, a reflection of what
Could have been, and never will be,
We pass each other on the way to class,
Never daring to look one another in the eye,
If we ever do touch, it burns,
We barely ever talk anymore but,
Today while I was crying in the bathroom,
I heard your voice,
You were sitting in the hallway,
Pretending to work on an assignment for class,
But I could tell by the smile on your face,
That you were writing a poem,
I dried my eyes and stopped to listen,
Every word stung because I knew it was true,
You looked up to find me staring at you,
The bell rang, and I had to leave,
I never got to ask you who your muse was,
Many months have passed since that day,
I write a lot of poetry myself,
We share them with one another,
I finally did get the courage to ask who she was,
I know now,
So here is a little poem from YOUR MUSE!
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