It’s no good being a poet, a lover or an ex
Poets wish they had lovers, they wish these lovers
Could help them put all that tension to stanza
Lovers wish they had poets, they wish these poets
Saw them as ideally as a poem itself, how they love-make
How they heart-break, how they moan, and whisper and leave
As for the exes, perhaps they had once been
Lovers or poets
But they now simply can’t do either correctly
So poets write what they can, hoping to find a steady one
Who can hear them type from the other room
(Their exes were probably shitty when it came to that)
Lovers, love as is possible, sometimes
Succeeding in self-satisfaction better than in being good lovers
Hoping to find someone who doesn’t care less about love
As for the exes they suddenly don’t give a damn
About the poet, or the lover part; they suppose
Life can be better without someone commanding it as it is
They allow defeat
And in a way, that’s what poets and lovers
Will be doing in a few years of vocation
