You don’t know this about me,
you flirting, busy bee,
but I’m hurt by the ghost you’ve become.
Haunted for years by shallowness,
not that you are, but I’m so distressed
by the ephemeral fading you’ve done
in my life as a picture, out as a memory.
Back in again, posing so charmingly,
far from my lips, a spectral self-dismissed.
Perhaps your tease is punishing me
for ruining the first date so ignorantly.
No apology could summon that could’ve been kiss.
I’m aching, but not complaining.
Your beauty constant is reigning.
So haunt and prove you don’t need me.
My reflections affirm the needed solitude
before loving with a confident attitude,
and the attentiveness you deserve, busy bee.
So ghost shamelessly, dear.
You deserve the best.
I’m sorry you met me
at my pitiful worst.
Wow, I talk about perfectionism a lot don’t I? Lol, well that’s because it haunts the f**k out of me. I’m a very ambitious, but sensitive person. I have big ideas that turn into elaborate, yet overwhelming strategies, and have issues altering those strategies only because I get stuck in a strong spell of the […]