Looking the notes over again,
Written back and forth
In awkward scrawl and thin cursive.
Conversations I started, knowing
They would lead to
tearing the hair out of my scalp,
You kind of, sort of plagiarist.
Even though you could write that
I know you, you wouldn't.
What do you owe me
After years of these letters?
One letter from summer camp,
A twirl at the end-of-year dance,
A few sincere thoughts, poems written in confusion
And too many apologies.
I won't ask that of you
For I still hate to see you hurt.
Note- I have forms for three poetry contests. I'm definitely going to sendthis to one of them. I'm choosing between the one the library's offering, and the one my mentor sent me.