F. Y. I.

You should know better than to look for hints
In this large pile of unpublished poetry
Assuming I left pieces of myself laying out so carelessly
But there’s no hidden messages in these black and white prints.

I cried out in pain
Spoke words of affirmation
Yet rewarded with constant frustration
There’s only so much one can entertain.

All that I was, I presented to you
My thoughts and beliefs
Highest points and moments of grief
All of which, you knew.

But here we are…

You rummage through my archive of dark ensemble
As if maybe, just maybe I don’t have enough brain capacity
To prevent strangers and enemies from deciphering my reality
While I sit back and watch my whole life crumble.





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