Maybe I Loved You

The poet who used Bible pages as rolling sheets.

The blue eyed girl who came from heaven

Or somewhere far away in the UK.

The man with eyes of different colors;

Always in and out of tattoo shops, wandering around

With my initials on his skin — well,

He didn’t know who he was,

But I did

.

The local boy who today is twenty eight

And moved to Switzerland

Ages ago, crying the sadness

Of a lonely sixteen year old…

And the blond dreamer who liked guns

But hated my fear of them

.

I am never sure. I can’t ever say

I know what I want

Or wanted that day, even if my faith

Is stronger than this world.

I’m never predictable,

I can’t read myself —

I’m a dubious fool in a haze; my heart

Is always changing colors

.

(But god, if real, knows I always will

Love my dear Morrissey)

.

ML

.

Throwing up feelings, rambling, overthinking. Not sure if this is a poem or not, but I hope someone out there thinks this is avant-garde instead of pure confusion and nostalgia.

 

 

 

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