I tried to sing to you,
But the TV drowns me out,
I belt, I scream, I shout,
But you turn it up louder.

I tried to give you my poem,
But to you, it doesn’t matter,
You leave my heart there to shatter,
And you just look away.

I painted you a mural,
Of pretty hues of violet and blue,
But my work is used to amuse,
You say Picasso will always be better.

I tried to love you,
But now I doubt I know the meaning,
My heart must need some spring cleaning,
Because I don’t know how to use it anymore.