My home life is chaos
and what I have, right
now, is you. You and 
maybe only you because
that is how a love poem
works. Don’t think
I didn’t want to write
a different poem. I tried
but the same shut up 
thought rose out of my
head and what I’m trying
to tell you is you’re
the focus of this poem,
baby. Not even the cliché
thing about the two of us
because that doesn’t cut it.
It’s really you and only
you because that’s maybe what
I feel like talking about
right now. Don’t tell me not
to write the love poem
either. I wrote everything
except the love poem and
look where it got me. A bunch
of publications and maybe
a tear here and there, but
that’s not you. Now the both
of us understand I’m trying
to talk about what love is.
What an overdone subject,
I get it, I get it but this 
poem is the right one because
it talks about you. I promise
you’ll like it. Just do 
something different for once
in your life and look at me
while I’m trying to write about you.

— published in Poetry
 — republished in The New Yorker

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