Nobody's Road

This poem is not about you, but
I feel you're worth mentioning.
It is written because
honesty will find me truth.

I feel excluded.
Yes, that's how it feels to me
when you share your attention
as a merchant would swap coin
in a market -
there's so many you can talk to
about everything and what -
what is there to talk about
but what is what,
and laughs about.

Hold on, before I name you not.
This is all in my head, is it not?
I'm trying to let go of you,
of this paragon you represent,
yet I hold out, hooked on a sliver
of your well-to-be shirt,
reconsidering.

Could you make me happy?
Could you be the one I want,
the one I've always called for,
even though I know,
I am nobody special,
nothing to spend much coin on,
offering little return in your eyes.
It is only in mine that you find lies,
because they stand in between
you and me, me and you -
one, but distanced as two.

And so apart we stand,
you in the middle of a bidding war,
me imprisoned behind a stall,
looking loneliness in the face,
watching it not smirk but smile
and mouth "you chose this."

I realise, I must have, I did.
By bending my thoughts back
into my fingertips, I typed,
on and on, the poetry of a sod.
I wanted your attention,
and you gave it to me in pieces -
never the whole thing.
I wonder, did you know I would
not be satisfied? Did you think
I wouldn't be, ever?

I forgive you.
It's best you didn't ruin your existence
while I was attempting to ruin mine.
Your smile, I still like it,
but I don't like it when I don't cause it.
That's right, I feel responsible
for your happiness.
And the 'sweet' things you enticed me with
give me no room to breathe
while I think them over and over
for their meaning.

You told me to find a girl.
I didn't. Not yet. Not one that would have me.
Yet I crave - crave - your approval
because I feel it will make me happy.

But - I know better now.
This is all in my head.
So, my happiness is guaranteed
if I just get you out of it,
at least off your throne.

You can't make me happy,
I can't reciprocate.
I tried. Clearly, I failed.
So what are we to each other now
but passing thoughts:
one is yearning for the other,
for the same nothing to be real,
and one is something
I can't touch.

This is nobody's road.