-So What If My Poems Are Rants?-

I don't really miss you
like my past self would have expected.
I can read her thoughts
through past poems.

She falls in like so fast and so often
getting herself damaged at every turn.
She's slowly learning how to protect herself.

I know that you remember
some of the things you said to me.
About how these were more like rants about you
you may be a little correct now, but you're no longer the one in my dreams

-A Hot Summer Night-

Pulse pounding
like the steady beat of a song-
thrum-thrum-thudthud-thrum-thrum-thudthud.

Sweat pouring
from my brow and slicking my limbs.

Tossing and turning
all night long
on a hot summer night.