He was nice
But so am I
And is nice enough?
Is it wrong
To want someone
Who understands my song?
Because with him
My voice would fall
On ears not deaf, but still
Ears that do not understand
The distinction I spent years acquiring
My writings would be seen
And admired, maybe
But not felt completely
And when I watch something
Turn around and share an idea
My mind would find not it’s true partner
And then — I doubt niceness
That frowns when I speak
And only tolerates my voice
Rather than cherishes it
Is truly very nice at all!
