You Know What I’m Thinking, But This Isn’t What You Think

read my writing guys, tell me what you think!

forest E. greenwell

This is not a love story. 

This is not a poem, or a novel, or a song. I don’t know what it is but it is none of those things. 

What this is, though, is a collection. A collection of explanation, and occasionally some apologies.

Like how I am sorry that when I am with you I often can’t speak because the words in my mind don’t come out as smoothly as they are thought, and how my tongue trips over them. They are prisoners running and running and slamming hard into my teeth; getting caught. And when I kiss you I’m trying to release them and I hope that these words run through your bloodstream and that you understand and when I bite your lip I’m trying to get the residue of the vowels out of my mouth before they become to sweet and let me rot. 

When you…

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