I’m selfish, I know
I’m stubborn, which, may be worse
I overshare… just not enough
I tend to ignore the facts that may be relevant
I’m amusing, yet I can make you sad
You’ll always want to know more,
you’ll never can
Poetry writes itself, doesn’t it?
Now I’m here, stuck,
with the image you want for me
no makeup will cover the fact that
I am still sad about it
No poem will soothe me enough
To ever forget about it