Posted in Poetry

Skunks, not so much

I want to know how
it happened; I don’t think it’s
fair that you’re talking to someone
else about it, just because
I forgot to call.

Maybe there’s something
left.

Maybe we, maybe I…

maybe I could fix it.

I’d get a good
job, get ahead,

I wouldn’t lose those
socks; I can’t get
something

better than you.

You, you’re like
me—skunks, not so much.

I hope you see
where I’m coming from.

-11.07.17

 

Author:

Trying to find the right words.

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