A Little Less (A Poem)

I’m the one you love a little less

Than the one you love the most

I’m the one who when you look at me

You’re thinking of her ghost

I’m the one who when you hear my laugh

You wish it was her tune

And I’m the one that, though I know you don’t

 I wish you loved me too

Ross Lynn

Thank you so much for reading. Feel free to leave a like or a comment and for more of my writing follow me on Instagram here.

Wet Paint (a poem)

I dropped a can

Of Orange

On the bed where we lay lying,

Too frivolous in nature to keep our touch from dying

Bruised fingertips

And swollen lips,

But none of them for me.

My stubbornness deters you from the place you ought to be.

I start to think that maybe we could make our shades in Purple:

My Blues

Your Pinks

If all combined could help us break this circle.

But in your eyes,

With their Green flecks,

The truth is all too clear:

You never will be simplified to shades in waves and tears.

So on this bed, I sit and keep our fingertips from grazing.

The scent of all my orange paint endearing but quite dazing

I smile to see you stand and leave,

I’m left with all but sorrow

I close my eyes and think about the wet sheets washed tomorrow.

Ross Lynn

P.S Thank for reading. I post a lot of my writings as well as other stuff on my Instagram which you can find here.

Ode to a Fuckboy

I’ll think when it gets light outside,

But know that I’ll feel just the same.

The way you made them feel inside;

Those smiles,

Those curls,

Those girls,

Those names.


And who am I to change the scene?

To get you stuck? To make you stay?

When every bright eyed minx before,

You’ve simply kissed and ran away.


I know that I can take some pain, 

A broken heart, am ache or two.

But when it’s a repeated scene,

It means it’s not just me or you.


I’m well aware that that’s the game.

The sun won’t shine for one, it’s true.

But what I can’t take is the shame,

Of knowing I’m just one to you.

Ross Lynn

Thank you so much for reading, more of my writing can be found on my Instagram here.

Wet Paint

I dropped a can

Of Orange

On the bed where we lay lying,

Too frivolous in nature to keep our touch from dying

Bruised fingertips

And swollen lips,

But none of them for me.

My stubbornness deters you from the place you ought to be.

I start to think that maybe we could make our shades in Purple:

My Blues

Your Pinks

If all combined could help us break this circle.

But in your eyes,

With their Green flecks,

The truth is all too clear:

You never will be simplified to shades in waves and tears.

So on this bed, I sit and keep our fingertips from grazing.

The scent of all my orange paint endearing but quite dazing

I smile to see you stand and leave,

I’m left with all but sorrow

I close my eyes and think about the wet sheets washed tomorrow.

Ross Lynn

P.S Thank for reading! I have an Instagram page where I post a lot more of my writing here.

Midnight Musings On Love

In order of rank, the things in life that make me blissfully happy are dogs, music, and the idea that someday somebody could love me. Not in a parental way and not because they felt biologically obligated but because they saw me and they heard me…and they loved me, simply because they could.

I want someone to fall asleep dreaming of the pout of my lips, the brown of my eyes and the high pitched, often seal-like, squeal of my laugh.

My teenage brain wants someone to single out every quality of mine that I ever thought was detestable and show me that it was all this time, always worth loving.

Ross Lynn

P.S Thank you for reading! I post of my writing on Instagram here.