It’s April, and I
have everyone fooled,

that my passion is gone,
the fire has cooled

that my eyes don’t expand,
when see you around

that my thoughts stay intact
when you’re there.

that my mouth says its words
not for you anymore,

and my heart as gone back
to its beat from before.

that I’m angry at you,
but i don’t know for what

that I’m more independent,
and happier,
but-

the new “him” in my poems
doesn’t shatter my ground

I’ve forgotten the meaning
of how to astound-

of how to surprise,
or be fearful of loss

of the things that are mine
and the things that you toss

but everything's fine
and you’re nothing divine

and it’s april,
and I am a fool