Coffee Shop Sessions

I wish it didn’t sting
when rejection tears apart
what I’ve poured my heart into,
hidden emotions or fragments thereof
painting scenes that tiptoe quietly
or outright screams.

I wish it didn’t sting
when he doesn’t think much of me,
but rather holds a love
kept at a distance that silently breaks
both of us apart.

I wish it didn’t sting
when correspondence stops like
a drought after the flood,
after love cascaded faithfully
to comply with the dream.

I wish it didn’t sting
when I hear his poetry;
the voice that gets to the depth of me.
And I realize all those lustful moments
and longing nights have ceased.

I wish it didn’t sting
when my daughter looks to me
for answers. Her big eyes searching
for meaning and I come up empty;
I’ve got nothing.

I wish it didn’t sting,
when all I have
is nothing.