I could learn to hate the memory of you –
For, if this where you planned to leave me –
You shouldn’t have made promises to be true –
You should have let my lonely heart be.
Loneliness hurts, I know, but it doesn’t infect
The future’s hope in good dreams of time.
Now all you’ve left me are tears that reflect
Seeping sores living through contrived rhyme.
I guess my dad handicapped me:
With iron fists and alcohol breath,
He showed me a path to anger,
He brought me closer to death.
I cheated his on-hand lessons
To follow my sexual heart,
And thought myself so strong and proud
To escape the gay, body mart.
But men who are lovers become fathers,
Eventually, soon or late,
Iron breath is replaced by cold fancy,
Waiting a line away from hate.
So dad conceived a wriggly sperm,
That he thought wriggled out way too wrong,
So here the poor thing vainly sits and writes,
Still hoping to seem strong through this song.
Hearts Still Care 
You must be logged in to post a comment.