dirty glass...

Going through your old notes, I know why I would go to class early and let you look at me through the window and wonder…

When all I wanted was to hold you, all I got was a disgusted look and a “No, not here.”

When all I wanted was to kiss you, all I got was a turn of the cheek and a “No, not here.”

Whenever I wanted to show how much I cared, you were too embarrassed.

Well, I felt unwanted then… Think of what you’re doing to me now…

How I can stay up all night leaving you messages that you keep un-replied is beyond me.
What goes through your mind when you read my text?
Is it the same thing as when I wanted to hold your fingers?

Is it? Is it? IS IT?!
Now that you’re being finger-fucked up and down the dance floor every Saturday night…
Now that you’re sharing the most private parts of yourself with any half-drunk, horny stud that asks the question: “Why not?”

You can think this over the next time you look at me…
Think about how it has been for me living inside a glass box you carry around with you where I can see everything you do.
I can see everything you do without the filters of truth or proof, but only through the dirty glass of a scarred imagination…
It doesn’t matter anymore that I know you and I know you’re incapable of such things…
What matters is that you aren’t responding…

And now you’ve left me no other choice but to stare up at you through the unclean glass and wonder…
“When was the last time you thought about me?”

You can lie all you want, but it doesn’t help, it just dirties the glass even further…

I want to break the box…
But I can’t…

In spite of my horrid imagination, I want to hold onto what I have left.
I’m just praying you give me reason to hold on before I say something I’ll regret…