Rosalind, with the bedroom of her heart (blackout poetry)

Every day, I sit and stare

at you talking about what others consider nonsense. 

I'd call you a wordsmith,

Staged-like words flowing off the tip of your tongue. 

I hunch in the corner of the group,

I came to sit by you everyday,

Listening to your laugh,

Imagining what it'd be like if we were friends,

Knowing you don't feel the same. 

my heart was ripped apart in seconds

and it only took a few hours to be stitched up again.

those stitches won't stay

just like I know you won't.

you leave the conversations like deer,