When I Was A Poet V

It’s time once again to highlight a poem from the past. I revised it a bit. Just a smidge. I saw where I could improve the flow or how I wanted it to flow and I think it worked out pretty well. But, I’ll let you be the judge. It’s called Confessions. Enjoy.

Why do I love you?

You don’t pay me any mind

I’m just an object to your confusion

A mere diversion to your illusions

Someone to talk to and confide in

But rarely even noticed when not in use

I sit and contemplate

rubbing my head in disbelief

Feeling empathy for a woman who doesn’t know I

exist

Or

Put it another way

Could care less

It’s probably me

I’m caught in a fantasy

A tangle web of

“I know she loves me”

And

“I’ll do anything for her”

Diatribe of confessions that aren’t worth

the paper they’re written on

So use to getting what I want with a smile

Or

A come hither gesture

She pays me no mind

I’m just another male trying to prevail

Through

Her armadillo armor

To look in her hazel eyes

And

Kiss merlot lips full of promise

To remove her problems

from the equation

So that she can

be with me

And

Not against me.

Robert C. Price

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