Hunger for Affection

It feels unfair sometimes, that my thoughts are here, splattered into text

and yours are still burried so deep within

it feels unfair that my vulnerability is bleeding

and yours is rumbling beneath the surface

I guess thats what poetry is

messy by profession

integrous via confession

I can’t help it

It feels unfair sometimes that all of this knowing will be left alone

and Daisies buried but not planted

it feels unfair that these ruminations as clear as lions mane

are left for Gatsbyesque attention

I guess that’s what poetry is

an asking for rejection

a hunger for affection