Even though these are the minutes of truth,
I don't tell the truth.
Too embarrassing, I can't.
With the broken voice, palm shaking sweaty.
And this fear sitting inside the head,
grasps all the nerves, makes me choke on my bile.
The thing is, coming from your ex, it's sweet.
And coming from a guy who wouldn't kiss you in his silver Suzuki,
It's just weird and maybe even mean.
She's right there, deserves someone consistent,
Maybe I can't be that.
I can't be the guy quoting their girls,
Or kiss her in the dark.
But since being honest,
Wisdom, certainly a better fate than a kissing douche.
Honest and regular so fascinatingly different.
Feeling so vulnerable, so easily used.
Every time someone tries to love, start questioning own worth, not ready to be hurt,
Not ready to face this world.
To be true,
You see a everyday jackass guy standing in the bay with his glass eyed.
Not to be the one who call-you-read-poem.
Moments of peace he finds hiding in other's stories.
Might think you to be some smart, pretentious,
But the pretentiousness making you kind he want.
And then other time finding it amazingly bad idea like a series of unnecessary makeout sessions.
Not stopping for even a second,
To realise that this may not be what he want, may not be what he need.