I have concluded that all my poems are either melancholy or praise. There really isn’t anything in between.

Here is tone of the more hopeful melancholy ones:

she looked lachrymose
at least I think she did
I’m not too sure what
lachrymose means
she looked forlorn
she looked hopeful, no, hopeless
she looked desperate and dejected
like she knew nothing was coming.
but. on the off chance that it did…
she looked old.
but she looked young
she looked young
but she was old
she had been crying
but the puffiness had left
she looked sad
but she was smiling
she looked ready to get going
but petrified of the next step
she looked thunderously meek
she looked away
like she wasn’t there
she took one step forward
she took one step back


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