All You Poets
I saw you at a bar once
On a sunny Tuesday afternoon with your sunglasses and a brown hat crumpled in a pile next to you
You were hunched over your blue book, scribbling away in a stained notebook with a borrowed pen from the bartender
You didn't look up when I said hi
You didn't notice me when I walked by for the first time, or the second, or the twelfth, or the thirteenth
You were too busy rambling away in your books, with your blood stained words about me, to see me standing right in front of you
You never saw how much I silently pleaded you to ask me to stay
You just turned away and walked out, the second I said go. As if you were waiting for the instructions
You didn't look back at the framed pictures of how much I loved you hanging on my wall, or the roses I left on your doorstep, soon withered beyond recognition
You didn't look back at all the cups of coffee we've shared even though I hate the bittersweet aftertaste
You didn't see the phone calls, or the lunches or the day I drove the four hours to your house to say goodbye
You didn't see how much I put aside, so I didn't have to put you aside
No, you were blinded by what we didn't have. Fueled by a muse you created out of the ashes of a fire you started.
All you poets, you're all the same, delusional