I wrote this poem moments after a girl, I totally would have married, told me she wasn't physically or sexually attracted to me. Ouch.
A Crooked Babbling Brooke
What, I’m not good enough? Do I give up?
Close the door behind me?
Well, the truth hurts. And what is worse, it is blinding.
Constantly reminding me, finding my weaknesses, hiding.
Bringing me grief, stealing my peace, a thief.
She a beauty, and me, the beast.
These kinds of stories, with no happy ending, they adore me, they form me.
No more pretending, lending me fantasies that can never be, only possibilities.
My heart is adrift on random seas.
Play me a heartbreak anthem please.
I can’t breathe, with tendencies to grieve.
She’s out of my league.
It’s cold. I freeze. Oh reality!
My needs never met, bereft, upset.
Yet, I can’t forget, or let go!
Still, I know this is how it ends again.
Lacking, never packing the total package though.
I’ll be good enough for someone, somewhere, someday, maybe.