was being
an unwanted
the precursor
to an living
an unwanted
or was it
the knowledge
of being
that set me on
course to question
everything i had
been taught

just barely
enough to forecast
self fulfilling
prophecies of
dire dooms
to recognize the
recursive shitshow
growing into
a mutilation of
what was once
so pure it was
spectral in its
blinding glory
until my cancer
caused a sudden
total collapse

when a poet loves
everything becomes
a magical poetry
my problem is
that never fades
even as i watch the
bonfire fade to ash
i scrabble in the
soot to write
another ode to her
long after she
turned her smile away

how do you ever
feel wanted in life
when from the
very first connection
you were deemed
unworthy of love
and every attempt
after has resulted
in abandonment?

how long until you
see the only common
factor in the collapse,
the only one trying
past the point of
common sense is you?

and what are you
supposed to do with
this crushing bit
of divine truth?

write another
fucking poem to the
rolled eyes of
universal disinterest
ad nauseam until
either the pain stops
or your heart does

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