If only I had a chance.
To do something meaningful.
To save a life
Or inspire greatness.

But I'm not that kind of person.

I'm not ambitious enough
To do something meaningful.
To make a difference.
To have the world remember
Not me, but what I did.

I'm not helpful enough
To save a life.
The world is too full anyway.
I'd never make enough sense
To even save anyone.

I'm not good enough
To inspire greatness.
I'm not a good person.
And I hate public view
So I don't think about standing up.

I'm not that person.

I haven't been since lower school.
When I still dreamed big.
When I still loved wonder.
When I was afraid of storms
And the boogeyman lived close by.

That person no longer exists.
If only I could go back
To make sure that person lived.
But by doing that
I'd erase me. And everything I am.

You and I jokingly started.
You said to me, "I love you,"
With a joke attached.
I replied back, "I love you too,"
With my heart attached.

I felt nothing as you held it.
Maybe because it slowly melted
By your undying rage of me.
I still ask why you loved me.
Only to throw me like a clay frisbee,
and shoot with a shotgun shell
Imbued by the bitterness of you.
Pieces of it are left and it felt like hell.

I antagonized you,
I despised you,
I loathed you,
But I never stopped loving you.
I never stopped caring for you.
I hate you for leaving me.
I hate you for teaching me how to love.
I hate you for not teaching me how to stop loving you.

A casual glance, a gentle touch,
It stops at that, we know it must.
A chaste embrace, an offered cheek
which I dryly kiss and count it sweet.

Once we’d danced around a flame-
an older man, a willing maid.
Both comfortable in our own skin
In secret we began our sin.

I know your body like my wife’s
But she was elsewhere, I recall
Your husband, too, was on the road
When I, like Adam, had my fall.

We speak of nothings, jobs, careers,
Not of our existential fears.
Celebrity splits, Horrid crimes,
our ****** ever on our minds.

We dance like moths about a flame
which never must be lit again.
It stops at this, we know it must
a casual glance, a gentle touch.

We've become cliché,
And not just one,
But a multitude.
The forbidden romance.
The older man.
The late night phone calls.
The cigarettes after ***.
The hopeless romantics.
The songs we sing to each other.
The late night drives to nowhere.
The fling that never ends.
We've become cliché.
And I couldn't be happier.