I’m again rusty with poetry but dying to express too
You just want to be known. You want your love to be held and cherished… To be deserving the arms of warmth and reciprocation.
But at the end of the day… All you really do is compose a bit of broken words… Not worth a bit of effort your heart puts to let it all out… The words are simply specimen of feeble attempts.
It is as if writing without vowels. Writing without ink. Crying without a tear.
It is an angst with no way out.
It is called heartbreak.