Nobody Reads Poetry

Nobody reads poetry,
Tell me a story!
This is melodramatic,
You're unrealistic.
Too short, too sad:
Stop writing, I've written you off.

Where do the moths go when the lights are out?
Does sonar go out like 

teenagers through windows in the middle of the night?
Countless bats with concussions.

Myself, like the bat I was,
Walked into a disabled parking sign when I was three,
My skin bubbled up like a take and bake pizza and stayed that way.

My fault: I thought buying a sonicare would give me sonar,
But it was copyright.

STOP WRITING, I'VE WRITTEN YOU OFF!

Sometimes leaves fall out of love with the trees:
We call it autumn.

Our insecurities have began to blush and fall out of love with us,
It's almost September.

Nobody reads poetry,
But we still 

open one another

like freshly published anthologies.

Author's Note

Unfinished