Papa Was A Rodeo
I did not mention you Because you run across so many years, Evoke so many feelings, Have fixed and broken and repaired And rebroke And have broken And been fixed And repaired yourself That I am no longer sure Of what to say When you come to mind. I don't know if this is how it is For everyone But I don't hope that that's The case Because then I'm even more of An idiot Regardless if I appear as such Though I know missing someone Is normal I don't think other people Get as close Or can get as close Though I know that thought Is pretentious And you know I hate pretentious Though I know that you are pretentious I do not hate you Could not Would not And you know that when I love things I Can't stop Won't stop 5ever Though I hate that I still Write about you Wonder about you Talk about you Hear about you See you in pictures Read the poems you wrote Printed And gave me Remember you And I'm sorry to you And you, too I don't mean to fuck up your shit Or make hard feelings Or bring up things that may Hurt or disgust you Or you I truly am And I really don't think About it as often as this Makes it seem I do But I do think about it And I do wonder if you Think about me And still feel love Or miss our friendship Or anything about me at all. Maybe that would be closure? If we had one whole day alone I would be contented just to talk. I would be happy just to hear from you. I don't want the past, I don't expect it. I feel like I'm being Pathetic me pattering on But I'm being honest And it's harder to be honest Than silent But I have to write And writing should be honest And I'm grateful, Honestly.
