This is me writing a poem -
or a prose ...
Whatever it seems to be to you-
you know I don't know meters--
I didn't attend lit class like you did.
This is my pen
making love to the paper
with words that won't do as much
if spoken--
I know you don't want to "hear" from me.
This is my paper
having enough space
to write on
probably everything
you wouldn't have time
to spend on
reading.
This is my paper
having a huge space
to write on -
probably as huge as the space
that's been emptied
since you told me
"I miss you,"
and I answered
"No, you don't."
I know I'm making you puke right now.
If I wasn't here, I'd be there
handing you a plastic bag.
If I wasn't here,
it could only mean
I was there --- because if I wasn't here,
it means
I could be with you
as long as I promised...
as long as you wanted.
And as much as you hate cliches,
this is one of them --
because I am just a guy who can't say
to your face
how sorry I am for not being good
at keeping promises.