If I wrote the way I thought, I would write so much more. I'd write about discussions and conclusions About depression and confusion I'd write aggressively Maybe obsessively I'd write so incessantly that my fingers would ache I probably wouldn't even realise if I made a mistake I'd write so much that I would want to escape Escape reality And escape my own mortality I'd overcome my own abilities My poems would get weak And I am scared that they won't be as unique In the end, if I wrote the way I thought, I would write about you so much more Your eyes and the way you smile About the way you laugh and that I am so hopeless in love But I've never written a poem about love That is probably why I don't write the way I think Because in the blink of an eye, everything I wrote can be gone I'd have to say goodbye to you, to all of this, To the way I write and the way I imagined you would kiss To the way you laugh and my own hopeless love Since all of this is in my head and I don't even know, if the you that I imagine, exists I should probably just forget about you About your smile and the tone of your voice About the fact that my soul made such a silly choice To be attached to you and to want to remember the smell of your perfume To sit beside you and watch the stars and talk about the moon and everything that was But nothing happened which is why it is impossible to talk about the past Everything is only a wish and your soul is way too far to reach That is why I am sitting here giving this speech even though no one is listening So I am going to end this poem here while whispering If I wrote the way I thought, I would write so much more About you, about me About hopeless love and my heart that wants to be free