Reader. Writer. Romantic.

More complicated than that

You ask me what I want
But what kind of answer do you expect?
Do you expect me to say?
I want it black or white?
Do you expect me to want
Something answered by yes or no

I am not one dimensional
I am not a line
Even three dimensions
Isn’t who I am
I am more complicated than that

I feel a depth of emotion
That fluctuates with time
I feel a pain
Dull, but resonant
Across the ages

But who doesn’t want to be loved
To be held
When nothing goes their way

What will it take to make you understand?
I am a paradox that refuses to change
I thought you knew that
I thought you knew better
Than to change who I am

But I have to thank you
For you bring the best writing out of me
Happiness has never warranted poetry
Except for when happiness writes me a sonnet
But you are worthy of a sonnet
But unlike the men before you
You inspire me to be more than I could ever be
All that comes from the pain and pleasure of associating with you
Crystallizes upon a page
And shares with you
And a hundred others
The disappointment of association, expectation, and love

I’m tired of fighting
Why can’t I just be me?
Take it or leave
I will always be me

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