This poem is kinda written as a one-sided conversation, so please don't get confused.
You still have my clothes. What? No, I want them back. Yeah I said you could have them when we were a thing.
Now we are nothing. We are nothing and I'm finding it hard to understand why you still have my clothes. Maybe you liked the design of the shirt and the way the fabric felt on your skin.
Maybe you've not noticed it was once mine.
Maybe it's you trying to hold onto the last of what we were.
Or maybe I'm just crazy and you just wanted to wear them because at the end of the day yes they are my clothes, but they are just clothes. There is no meaning behind you keeping my clothes.
So, I want my clothes back. What? I don't understand why you think not having enough clothes is my problem. If you're old enough to go out late and pick up unhealthy habits you told me you never wanted to pick up, you're old enough to buy clothes.
You still have my clothes, and my heart.
YOU ARE READING
Poems by me.
PoetryThese last few months have been absolute hell for me. Losing the only boy I'd sacrafice my everything for, losing my friends, coming to terms with my mental illness and letting it get so bad that I was nearly hospitalised multiple times... A normal...
