Sometimes I wish my heart could speak
Instead of my mouth.
Maybe it could iterate
Something more descriptive
But then again maybe
It would say something worse
Instead of I hurt
Maybe it would say
Im still a hot mess
Maybe the words I say
Only come out wrong
Because it is me speaking
Maybe the things I do
The words I say
The heart I have
Will always be this way
Maybe I will never be
Right. Or good. Or okay.
Maybe my words will always
Form flimsy sentences
Filled by too much air.
And maybe my notepaper
Will always be lined
With more tears that words.
Because maybe its just me.
Tears. Mess. Heart.