Rough Cut.
We both know I’m different.
Cut from a different cloth.
I thought you knew, I thought you understood.
That when I was cut, it wasn’t neat, it wasn’t tidy.
My edges are rough, my corners are frayed.
I believed you when you said you loved me and my flaws.
I had faith that you would be the one to finish the job.
You were supposed to be the one to clean up my edges.
Help me shape myself into what I wanted to be.
I guess that was too big a job,
Not worth the work.
So here I lie.
In a worse state than before,
Because, you see, dear friend,
When you walked away, you had one of my threads still
wrapped around your little finger,
And the further away you go, the more frayed I become,
The messier I appear.
And a part of my will always be your’s,
A part of my make up will always be tied to you.
You can move on with your life,
But I will forever remain waiting for you to come back.
No comments:
Post a Comment