i’m tired of writing these poems
tired of chasing the right words
for a feeling that never wanted to be named

tired that nothing i write
comes close to the way it felt
to love you
and lose you
and still carry it all

no stanza, no line,
no late night whisper into the void
has ever been enough

the love i have for you
deserves more than language
and yet
language is all i have

you fancy your mouth with cunning words
but you mistake everyone a lesser men than you

you blind yourself with confidence in your craftsmanship yet you shame others for things you are ignorant of

you dress yourself with the clothes of a free thinker yet you are as narrow as any

you dont realise your patterns and that is ok.

You are human. You will not be perfect. You will realise your hypocrisies too late. You will fail to improve.

You will end someday, and that is the only free thing you will ever be a part of.