I'm only curious--
why wasn't I good enough for you?
Which part of me was it
you couldn't seem to stand?
Was it the way I chewed my food,
slowly and with subtle purpose?
Could it be the misshapen vision
of my heart
somehow
(for some odd reason I cannot name)
longing for your hand?
The socks I wore were strange.
The books I read were home to me.
My sense of correction a little too strong.
True, I could never love another thing more than I did the Autumn breeze,
but that was never suppose to mean we couldn't
at least try to prove that wrong.
You were never a Darcy,
believe me you could never even try.
Nor a Dean, a Hardy, a Wadsworth or even a Thomas.
But it didn't matter to me.
All I saw, all I wanted was a spark.
A zang.
A burst of marble sunlight--
a song only I could hear, no matter
how sad the lyrics were.
But I guess some happiness is never meant to be.
Or perhaps it is happiness
that I am missing only because I wanted
you more
than I accepted myself.
Perhaps.
But what a lovely idea we would've been.
What a perfect array of
chaos and explosion we
could've given the sky,
like the stars.
-k.p.b.
9/20/15
11:58PM
