Being The Notch
tis a broken heart i harbor day in / day out
memoirs and lost postcards fading balms
it wasn’t fun, twas always a noble search
all my notches were seeking love
for most i was not lovable
just a skilled performer for their plays
what i looked for and saw in them, i remember
but to them i was just a ne’er loved goldfish
i do claim a hunger so gnawing, yes
one that can’t or won’t die — not yet
i shall always be a seeker
dodging the scorpions of a desert world
cringing from alcohol doused onto wounds
how many times did i fall under a spell?
how many times was my heart broken!
does anyone even remember me?
sigh, they had no inclination of prolonged heart
i’m jaded knowing all too well
the impermanence behind thin words of most
the motivations of pressing flesh that does not love back
but one cannot stop searching
even if i end up being the notch