I’m frustrated. You’re out of reach.

You chase him, but you’re all I can see.

Maybe someday, you’ll be looking at me.


I’m frustrated with myself.

A single look is all it takes, and I melt.

Nothing I do seems to offer any help.


I’m frustrated for not moving on,

Afraid of losing what I never even won.

Anyone else and I’d already be gone,

Instead it’s you and all I’ve done is forlong.


Frustration is what you’ve caused.

To be clear, it’s not your fault.

I entered the game and accepted the loss,

Though I never accounted for what it would cost.


I’m frustrated when I want to smile.

Constantly discovering you may be worthwhile:

Your mind, heart, even your style,

How after you laugh your eyes stay bright for awhile.


I’m frustrated with my own heart.

I should’ve known from the very start,

That someone designed like a fine piece of art,

Would have already given away their heart.


I’m frustrated. You’ve driven me mad.

Don’t mistake, it hasn’t all been bad.

But, I’m frustrated and I’m always sad.

The chance I thought I’d take, I never even had.


Frustrated is how I feel trapped in this skin.

Frustration burns me from within.

I’m jealous of him.

All I know is whose arms you’re currently in

Makes me wish to be more than a friend.

Makes me wish to be him.


I’m frustrated.

So frustrated.

But, honestly, I don’t hate it.

J. Brock

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