I've always had this fantasy,
Of someone writing a poem for me.
One that talks about soft hair,
And tells me that my skin is fair.

Something tells me that it won't happen.
It's just as likely that I'll start rappin'.
So I sit here and I sulk,
Dreaming about a nonexistent hulk.

One that could write good poetry,
And would fall madly in love with me.
But instead of receiving poems from another,
I sit here writing about my troubles. O bother.

01/15/2005

Posted on 01/16/2005
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