Dear World

I have never wanted to do things to you, World,
with my poems: it's more that sometimes you and I
hurt each other so deeply that
I finally take a deep breath and say
I think we have to talk.

Maybe it's our ages. I was
nine months old when we met, and you
were just getting over a few million bad marriages:
I guess I was sort of a
rebound relationship.

Still sometimes it's so good, and I
don't want to be ungrateful. I owe everything to you.
It's just that sometimes
I start to think
Maybe there's somebody else.