Learn more about other poetry terms
Imbecile. That’s what they call me. It’s not my fault I’m occasionally late And stubborn And forgetful.
The cogs of our internal clocks didn't mesh. it wasn't the right time- and we knew it. one day our hands will match
Can’t you see, I’m trying to be optimistic. Everything you did, I try my hardest to forget it. Don’t wanna hurt you By acting like I’m so resented. But we’ve done it before,