Long Hill

"Hello Landen", wait, that won't work.

"Greetings fellow---", AUGH.

"Hi Landen." That sounds so lame.

I give up.


In the process of me writing to you,

I always go through this process.

You're a gigantic arsehole for this.

Making me FEEL things.


You're like a riddle I want to explore,

but I don't want it to be obvious that I asking for something.

You're honestly ok looking, I don't care what happens to you,

nor anyone.


But your face...whatever, you have a lot of acne.

Not like the guys I read about in my smut.

But again, I suppose that's a plus. 

I mean, you're not a douche.


But it's IMPOSSIBLE for me to even 

REMOTELY open up to a guy.

I mean, you're not even my type.

Wait, do I even have a solidified type?


I so want to be friends with you, 

but gosh, I feel like I'd glorify you too much.

Plus, I cannot for the fact that I literally

have various hues slash my face all of the time.


Because of YOU. Demonized child.

It's all of your fault. I don't want to be the loser here.

You're going to force me to be HONEST,

and my mom already told me that you should never fully put your heart out there.


But that doesn't mean I don't want to.

What if you rip it to shreds?

I mean, literally gut that thing to pieces?

I long for companionship, but geez. I don't want to seem desperate.


My mom's Hallmark Channel movies are supposed to 

save me right now. They are supposed to tell me 

to go to you, if my soul truly longs it.



Those bad actors and trashy plots did not prepare me.

You kind of confessed to me once, but I denied.

AUGH, what is this, what's happening?

God in heaven, why?! I know how David felt for Bathsheba now.


Hopeless. Like enough wasn't enough. 

Landen, I think I love you.

Wait, LOVE? 

No way. I can't feel this way about anyone.


Not even a dear friend. Gosh, please die with me.

I could tell you about my children and life,

and because you hate the thought of reproduction, 

you could just tell me about life altogether.


Do not let me down on this. It's been a while since 

I've had a dear friend. 

I'm preparing myself to get hurt.

But I pray that the fall never will come. 


At least not without me dragging you along.

This poem is about: 



Such a likeable narrarator. Akward and charming. Your piece is truthful to the insecurities I've had and my thoughts in general as well. I love how you crafted this piece from begining to end. My only critique would be that the repeated capitalization can take me out. But other than that, I really enjoyed this.

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