You have to lower your
expectations for life.
It probably didn't help
being fed clichés for breakfast
like strawberry pop-tarts
throughout your
adolescence.
Middle school only
made it worse, when you
discovered words could
describe sadness. You learned
about math and the
improbability,
statistically speaking,
of your dreams.
The sadness picked up speed
in high school, and the teacher
you loved who smoked,
who cursed and made jokes,
who taught you how meaningful
words can be, has already
forgotten your name.
The university did not help
at all. Your tall, lost professors and
brilliant lovers
only added to the distant,
dream-like ego
of the future. Piling hopes
one on top of the other
accumulating mass,
collecting nothing.
Your dream is a tidal wave
and we are nowhere near
the sea.
If you could, please,
lower your expectations
of me.