You asked me tonight to tell you what my best feature is. I said my soul, that in the bottom where the lightning struck is filled with oatmeal. I wasn't kidding, it's the best part of me.
I am not good at being taken for granted. There were times tonight when I wanted to travel to Europe and I did. You never suspected that I left, believe me, the remote control you think you're punching buttons on doesn't faze me.
But here is my level of sadness: you don't get me and I'm wondering if you ever will.. you asked me to stay the night.
I always need to leave so that your needs can be forgotten.
I curiously write poems in the wee hours, just to drive your
selfishness away. And I know, I'm there just to make you blossom, so my own selfishness cannot interfere.
I think if you want to know me, you'll have come here, where the metaphors live. Far into the void, where it's sane to be forgotten, to forget oneself-
because that's where love lives.