And just for thought...
A dollar from my hand to his, I will never see it again.
An unlikely poem about a piece of cloth I was not attached to anyway
but poems can't always be tears and desperation.
Sometimes they shouldn't be about anything at all.
The sad point here is I was then a dollar short for a pack of smokes later on.
It would be his fault.
And maybe I should demand that dollar back immediately.
Call his house a million times, harass his dog.
Blame it all on the lack of nicotine in my system.
Nah, I just charged the pack.
Keep the dollar, love.
You'll just owe me for the rest of your life.
At the end of the day, I'm just a girl who has been in love with writing her entire life. I am full of quirks, anxieties, fears, joys, laughter. And all I have wanted to do was give the world a smile.