Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

I am breaking my
own heart just to feel something—
anything at all.

It is everywhere
On the radio
In my friends' eyes
Right in front of me

It is part of life
The happy ending to every book
Part of life’s plan
What makes us human

It is a milestone
The progression of dating
Then marriage
And children

It is society’s solution
The one for sadness
For mental illness
To keep going when the world falls apart

It is why I am different
Unable to relate to the subplots in movies
To my friends' love lives
And will not ever have the option to

It is what the world will not understand
Why it calls me heartless
Unloving
And vile

It is inescapable
In the name of who I am
The name of my community
Aromantic

It is the reason I feel alienated
Because love is love
But I cannot love
At least not in the way the world wants me too

A friend that I had a lot in common
A friend that saw their old self in me
A friend that knew I was alone
And a friend that always had my back

We'd read books
We'd write poems
We'd watch movies
We'd talk about everything

But it was when we got too close
Too close that made me feel afraid
Too close that I distanced myself
Too close that I often never replied

He knocked at my door, I never opened
But he still cared
He said I'd call him, I never did
But he still cared

I know I've changed
But now I saw him happy
Happier than being with me
So near yet so far

Now I opened my doors
But he wasn't there
I tried calling him
But he wasn't there

Now I regret
That I long for that friend
I had a friend
That friend I took for granted

Hold your breath
Count to three
Be Whoever you need to be
They can’t hear you
anyway
It’s not the time
internalize
Tip and slop like turpentine
Stick me on the fishing line
Cast it up
above my head
Thoughts glisten
I breathe dead
Weightless
Wakeless
Asleep at the wheel
begging and praying
Make me a deal
Finish me
Finish them
Don’t turn back and see
They’re crawling on the walls and beams
Still stuck there
A creepy christening
Tell me I won’t remember who
Who I was before
I met you