One who rejected me
Nevertheless had a question for me:
“When I ghosted you
I wasn’t planning on ghosting you permanently.
But you panicked. You failed me.
I don’t love you. I did love you. Do you hate me?”
I was incensed by her question.
I froze. I panicked again.
At that moment I knew
Only one thing: this questioner was you.
You arrived in my poem again
Bringing no poetry—which you always do,
Forcing me to answer you in prose.
And here I am, as usual, after the dream,
Wondering why you sent her ahead into the dream
To make my poems more complicated.
I don’t want my poems to be complicated.
Meanwhile, your question about hate?
It’s for someone else. Wait.