I was taught that
Other people’s problems
Were always bigger than mine.
To always count my blessings and that
Others were having a worst time.
Maybe its was how I came to believe
That all my problems were so
Infinitesimal and irrelevant that
I never noticed I were dead
Till the last nail was hammered into my coffin.
In all of poetry
I cannot read the poems of ‘Love and Misadventures’.
Because the first line of acknowledgements
Already has your name in it,
While the rest of the book reminds me of
My time with you.
And I cannot allow myself to look back;
Or be reminded-
Not when I already know
You will not be there
Staring back at me.
If you read
What I write
You will understand me
A little better.
But you never ask.
You never bother.
Sometimes I wonder if there will be that one guy that will say cheesy,
Romantic things to me.
Sometimes I wonder if there will be that one guy that will take my breath away;
Set my skin on fire with just a touch.
Then I wonder if I’ll ever find him.
Look at myself,
Maybe I don’t want to find him at all.