There is no room for weirdo’s in this poem –
I am writing about love
and you do not fit the profile,
so for your own safety
step away from the poem
and back off slowly…
No matter how often you tell them
they never listen,
they want to be written
into your history
for all to read.
So they offer up their
weirdo selves, their feeble smiles,
as an ideal muse for me
as if I didn’t know any better
but I do …
So I am digging my fingers into
his plastic wrapped heart,
taking out the toy
and tossing it away…
Well … I did warn him.
© Aisling Doherty
aislingdoherty.com 