Why do we take so dearly
The things that keep hold of our hearts
And make us do unexplainable things
And feel emotions that make our stomach's churn?
Why do we express it
With words that sound goofy
Or words that cause pain
Or words that persuade bed companions?
How can something so naive
Be both good and bad?
And why do we dismiss it from those who give it the most
And desire it from those who don't give it at all?
Why do we hang on to it when it's no longer there to hold?
Why do we do that to ourselves?
How is that even possible?
Why do I write poems such as this?
Why do I still care?
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