instax

 

There's an element of pain to love.

Unrequited? Unappreciated? 

Although I'd rather it be that way.

Unfeeling? Unemotional?

Ironic, what other adjectives can I add to build on the false-self I’ve created?

 

But in the fleeting moments that come between,

uneven, unsteady,

you throw a bone to my imagination.

Unconditional, unshakeable,

and create flickers of hope, just enough to make me ignore the way your tone changed.

 

Flashes of potential polaroids,

untaken, unreal,

and a glint in you eye that I don’t quite understand; 

unclear, unchanged,

but enough to make me grasp the metaphorical polaroid and pray.

 

And for now ill stay.

Unrequited, unappreciated, 

but unapologetic.

I can wait for your polaroids to print.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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