Bittersweet

A Poem

Photo by Sofia Alejandra via Pexels

poems won’t make me rich,
but i seem to align them with you
as if they’re stars i need to catch
like fireflies at my fingertips.

i won’t see fame or glory
for what i write here —
but i do it because i hope
the words will reach you.

and it hurts
when i know you’re not mine.
and it hurts
when i’m standing by myself.

i don’t care what you look like,
i don’t care what you do with your hair —
but i care about what beats inside,
what you hide from the rest of the world.

you say you’re independent,
that you don’t need anyone or anything —
so then why do you run to some corner
of the internet to spread some good will?

i wrote dozens of poems
all for you, all for you —
but you never said a word
and i felt like a fool again and again.