I am not used to joy.
I don’t even know
Exactly what it is.
I am not used to contentment.
It irritates me.
I am not used to caring
About anything more than bills
And work
And crossed eyes.
I am not used to wandering thoughts
When they wander toward you.
I am not used to hope
When it involves another person.
I am not used to daydreams
That don’t examine my past.
I am not used to optimism.
I have always been a cynic.
I am not used to doodling your name.
I am not in eight grade anymore.
I am not used to watching my email
Or my phone for messages from you.
I am not used to any of these things,
But you are new to me.
this was written recently. i find myself in very much "like" with an incredible woman and will probably spew forth more poetry about her.
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