Lang Leav

Will you love me enough? Love me so much that your heart can barely hold it—that it would break every other heart you’ve ever held?

In a sea of strangers,

you've longed to know me.

She lends her pen,

to thoughts of him,

that flow from it,

in her solitary.

For she is his poet,

And he is her poetry.

To new beginnings,

in fear and faith

and all it tinges.

To love is a dare,

when hope and despair,

are gates upon it hinges.

Love is a game

of tic-tac-toe,

constantly waiting,

for the next x or o.

To love him

is something,

I hold highly

suspicious.

Like having something,

so very delicious—

then being told,

to do the dishes.

I know that I don't own you,

and perhaps I never will,

so my anger when you're with her,

I have no right to feel.

I know that you don't owe me,

and I shouldn't ask for more;

I shouldn't feel so let down,

all the times when you don't call.

What I feel—I shouldn't show you,

so when you're around I won't;

I know I've no right to feel it

but it doesn't mean I don't.

I deplore,

being ignored.

For—

I am not a bore!

But it's perplexingly sweet,

and quite sexy too—

to be ignored,

ignored by you

Love is good,

it is never bad—

but it will drive you mad!

When it is given to you,

in dribs and drabs.

In a sea of strangers,

you've longed to know me.

Your life spent sailing

to my shores.

The arms that yearn

to someday hold me,

will ache beneath

the heavy oars.

Please take your time

and take it slowly;

as all you do

will run its course.

And nothing else

can take what only—

was always meant

as solely yours.