Find A Man Of Means

If I'm ever into you 

You'll definitely know it

Because I'll hide from you

For months at a time 

And never text or call or make eye contact with you 

I'll disappear and you won't hear from me for a year or three

And if you ask me

It's all because 

I'm a coward

A big ol phony

A no backbone having

Piece of pond scum

I'll hide in my cave

And write poetry and books about you 

I’ll create our life in my imagination 

And romanticize you

I'll think that I actually know you

I'll play pretend 

And in the end

When I find the courage to come to you

In my mind, we’ll be inevitable 

But from you’ll stand 

I'll be barely more than a strange man

Who after the first inconvenience 

Will bolt like a scared deer

I may even try to blame you for my fears

Yes dear, after all these years, I am still controlled by my fears

I haven't learned anything

But I sure as shit act like I have, don't I? 

Yeah, I sure do act like a pretentious smuck sometimes 

It makes me sick 

The sound of my own voice becomes painful 

You'll hate it, I bet, like I do

. . . 

I don't understand the writer anymore 

What is he now?

How did this begin?

What kind of man

Is this writer guy?

And how many times can he do this again?

I don't know.

Is this healthy?

Is this good?

To take a woman 

And turn her into a muse

So she can be used

To create art

So I can break my own heart

With fantasies and daydreams

Of what her and I could be

. .  . It seems

That this is a poor dream

That only leads to pointless suffering 

A man of means

Wouldn't dream of her from afar, wishing upon a star, hoping the universe will magically bring them together 

No, a man of substance would take whatever action he needed 

To make sure they ended up together 

To make sure she knew she was truly loved

No matter how much rejection he faced

He would embrace it

And not become bitter 

But he’d strive to be better

And take action 

For her

For him 

For them 

Yeah, I bet that's what a good man would do . . .

Probably something like that . . .

If you really want to know

I suggest you go find a good man

And ask him.

But, let me ask you 

What is a poet to do 

When the woman he is into 

Is into a little hyena?

. . . 

Ay, he drinks, and smokes, and reads, and fucks, and fights, and writes. 

I guess that's what he does. 

I guess that'll do. 

He’ll sit in his cave

And dream of a life with you. 

. . .

Actually,

Fuck that.

-CH 6/14/25