my uncle says that all poetry is the same.
he's right, of course.
forty-four years old,
unmarried, tired,
working on an oil rig in Mississippi.
he's got wisdom i can't even imagine.
it's all the same.

no matter how hard i try,
no matter if i change Your name,
no matter if You actually read this,
it's all the same.

my uncle says that all poets are the same.
i believe him, of course.
eighteen years old,
just graduated, tired,
full of one sided, unrequited love for the whole world.
i've got naivety you can't even imagine.
we're all the same.

but i promise you,

cross my heart and hope to die,
no matter if it never changes,
no matter how many times i write this stupid poem,
every time i do,

it hurts just the same.