If Music Be The Food Of Love, I Have A Severe Dietary Imbalance

I’m the worst kind of romantic
In love with the idea of love
Obsessed with infatuation
A dreamer who dreams only of dreaming

I write odes to ideas
Sonnets to silhouettes of people I have never met
I’m besotted by my imagination
Masturbating to myth and mystery

My mind rejects reality in pursuit of perfection
But what perfection can an imperfect mind create?
Idealization turns to self-love
Turning in turn to self-loathing

I have yet to admit I have a problem
Even now I’m tempted to change the wording above
Make these failings of mine seem noble
Paint my selfishness with a coat of altruism

Maybe I’ll rewrite this as a bit of free verse
A performance, not a cry for help
A twinge of self-awareness reinterpreted as Punch-and-Judy
Mental illness always plays better that way

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This entry was posted in Love, Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to If Music Be The Food Of Love, I Have A Severe Dietary Imbalance

  1. Chris says:

    Goodness – I still love your writing.

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