Adaptations (A Poem)

The human brain is cunning, it acquires you to pain

It can get you used to anything, even not quite being sane

I’m used to feeling tired but not getting any sleep

I’m used to reaching thousands when I’m trying to count sheep

I’m used to leaving parties when anxiety attacks

I’m used to calling parents just to hear a voice speak back

 After days of duvet cover, I’m used to tangling out my mane

And though I know I shouldn’t be, I’m kind of used to pain

Ross Lynn

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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.