Will it burn them to see my scars?
Singing along the zones, stretching those parts,
Was it not enough to give those lines,
Waiting for the response, not wanting the stars.
Eight different ways I made it seen,
Every gesture I did, I made it mean,
Longed the words in hundreds of conversations,
Then moved to observe the littlest of actions.
Would it kill them to let go?
Okay or not just make it known,
Still I know I’d be here no matter what,
Even if the rejection tears me apart.
Need that denial be spoken aloud,
I know its lingering there not so proud,
The speech of theirs will only clear,
The facts I know, the most I fear.