My tear glands are quite muscular,
Hardened in use by time, resistant,
Yet not impenetrable,
There are still a few chords
In the heart that can be struck,
That dig deep, striking water,
A few strands of younger love
That swoop and dart,

We’d like someone
To think we’re something special again,
Like they did before,
Someone to acknowledge us, respect us,
Hope in us,
Someone to see us as what we could be,
Like in our younger days
When it was all joy
To jump on the conveyor belt called
The “I know everything” dotted line,
Thinking it led somewhere, convincing others it did,
Making believe that it did,

Sometimes I tell you about me,
That you don’t want to know about me,
You want to know about you,
You want me to tell you
Victory is more than a hopeful story,
Jubilant as the first flower,
Shining, bright, starstruck,

Some people we’ll always just love,
Even if they don’t (or can’t) love us,

Hey Romeo!

Don’t complain,
That’s how God loves everyone.

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