by Tim Chiu
My friends need to be left alone, but this poem is a rant.
|When a woman or a man
Is warm, cozy, and content,
They feel everything is a blessing
Or truly heaven sent.
There’s no miscommunication
For what they might be saying,
And when there’s room for serious talk,
There’s just as much room for playing.
But it always makes me wonder,
What is making them laugh,
My mistakes or blunders,
Or their not-so-serious gaffe!
I love a person’s resolve,
Who’s kind, deliberate, and charming,
Someone who can take a joke
Without being so alarming.
But the question that I sincerely believe
Is worth the courage asking,
Is what are you inevitably worth
When you don’t bother tasking?
Happiness revolves around
A simple, well-paying job,
Not being so peculiar,
Or such a naïve slob!
When men and women truly believe
They are heaven sent,
Makes them so Hell-bent.
Folks don’t understand their needs
For talking and for playing,
And what they actually mean to say
By words they are not saying.
Getting fired upon routinely
With a grave tongue lashing or two,
Has them quite confused and bitter
With no clue what to do.
Maybe we should let them own
Their meager wills and pride,
And let them be themselves again,
And hold our opinions inside.
Because they don’t get the message
Whenever I try to speak,
That their fortune truly stinks
And how their houses wreak.
But I don’t try to change the people
Whose enemies are their family;
‘Cause mine are not that close to me,
And I can’t truly name any!