Someone told me that i wasn't fun.
That i'm too intense, and that
I can't have simple conversations.
Saying those things meant nothing to her
So that leaves me to feel
Like i've done something wrong.
Like I'm not fun.
But the truth is that i'm boring.
I rarely leave my house.
I have isolated myself.
I am a miserable person
That people don't want to be around.
And when she told me i was too intense,
That i was not fun,
It was not surprising to me,
But coming from her,
It felt like a knife to the heart.
Because i know that she will live her life
As though it meant nothing.
And i have to understand
That to everyone else, it means nothing.
How can i live knowing that i'm boring.
My self image is poor,
She was important, her opinion was important
To me, and i don't know if i will ever be able to
accept that a person that i respect so highly
That i admire so passionately,
A person who has been more patient with me
Than any other,
Thinks that i am a miserable, boring person.
I have to look into her eyes and know that
What she sees is pathetic.
I have to know that all of this
Means as much to her
As the sun rising every morning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem