It hurts to discover you don’t make his heart flutter anymore.
It hurts to pretend to adore someone else and act like you don’t care.
It hurts when he set’s you up with his friends.
It hurts when he tickles you and calls you cute and plays with your hair,
but you know who he loves,
and it isn’t you.
Yet, you live off the little attention he gives you.
You find life in making him laugh,
and then you remember.
You are just a decoration, a footstool, to him.
So you hide your feelings,
hoping that the more you push them down,
the less they will become.
The more you try to hide from it,
the more he is in your dreams,
the more you see his face in the faces of others.
You feel broken,
yet every fleeting glance you exchange,
you pray that inside,
he’s loving you.
Stop hoping,
you scream at yourself.
He has his pick of everyone,
and his pick
would
never
be
the short freckled girl with the loud laugh and the crooked jaw.

For more of my poetry: awriterssoulrain.blogspot.com