You meant it this time,
just like all of the other times before.
It’ll never change will it?
I’ll be the last to know, the last to love, the last one.
I push and pull you.
Your wrists are bruised.
I’m constantly tugging and grabbing and touching.
I want you so badly.
You just don’t know.
You didn’t break any promises.
I should have never expected so much.
I’m guilty after shouting at your form, and wanting you to hug me even though I’ve left you torn.
I’m clinging onto you like those stubborn vines,
dodging removal off that concrete wall.
Maybe I’m too clingy too.
Maybe I’m too much for you.
I am too much for me, too.
Sometimes.
You meant it this time.
I wouldn’t be the last to know, the last you’d call, the last you’d love.
You couldn’t really mean it.
I’m still waiting for you to love me.
I’m uncomfortably ambivalent,
you were heaven sent and I still couldn’t be enough though I try.
I’m the genuine thing, though I cling.
I still miss what we could’ve had.
I miss the dreams I believed could come to life when things got tough.
I let myself down again.
I’m just uncomfortably borderline.
Dawning Creations 
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