I wrote a poem a while ago
About how all my poetry is the same now.
Because of you. And here's another dose of repetition
To gulp down my dry throat.
I guess this is how I know it's love,
And if I'm in love, my poetry has jumped ship,
Drowned in an ocean filled with tears
That I don't even remember shedding.
I don't know if my poetry is any good,
But I know that I can translate emotion into words,
And that's something to be accomplished,
If I never know how to do anything else.
See, I'm not good at loving you.
I don't know how to be who you want,
But it's too late,
My heart's already relinquished its grip on poetry
And now it constricts around your soul
Like a snake devouring its prey...but in a beautiful way(?)
I can write poetry, but I can't love you,
It'll first be the death of poetry, then the death of loving you.
Please don't do this to me, I grip pens,
I don't know how to safeguard hearts.
Here, take my last poem and leave, it's about you again.
They're all about you now.