This poem is not about you
except, ok, maybe that one line.
Cause I get it all the time,
“You write about me to much,
all fancy lace and such,
less, It would be better,
can’t you just put it in a letter?”
This poem is not about you,
cause I would not deem you worthy
of such committed thinking,
(truthfully, I am slightly miffed)
kind sir, what have you been drinking?
I have better things to do,
then ramble on about your eyes,
that nose, which, you clearly think is crooked.
What? You say I am talking about you?
Clearly, this poem is not about you.