But the poems never feel complete

maybe because I am incomplete myself

maybe it’s the loneliness

maybe it’s the heartache

But I am aware that he nor her will ever understand

the pain it takes

to write a decent poem.

In my heart, I wrote a poem,

it was a poem about love

I love too hard, and too soft

I love like a broken man

with no soul left to depend upon

and maybe it’s just wishful thinking

that these problems will disappear

But I know you fix me

No one remembers the old me,

maybe that’s for the better.

Maybe they all remember the old me,

that’s for the better too.

The memories are too strong

I regret so many things

guilt

sorrow

love

and pain.

Maybe you’ll understand, maybe you’ll care

maybe you’ll leave, maybe that was all a dream

at least it was peaceful

yesterday wasn’t like today.

Today is …

Something.