The Biggest Heart You Never Had (Not Really)

A Tortured Poet’s Regret — No14

Photo by Velizar Ivanov on Unsplash

a poet
is a falsehood,
and
so am i.

i can tell you i’m deep —
that i’ll matter beyond it all —
but that’s not the case,
at least as far as i’ve seen.

the stories matter little,
and the poems matter
even less
because i’m a mockery.

maybe that’s why i can’t keep
anyone who matters —
and maybe that’s why i can’t know
anyone who cares at all.

i’m so lost in my own head
that i get caught up in uncertainties
and wonder where the time goes
that i’m losing day by day by day.

i know the one i love
won’t ever call me on the phone,
and i know he won’t ever glimpse me
across a crowded room and smile.

no, this man
will always overlook me
just as he did with the girls before
and just as he’ll do with the girls ever after.