Weddings make me sad because I still don’t understand them.
I mean, at the ripe old age of twenty-eight years old,
I stare out there at the rings on people’s fingers
and watch lips hug words before letting them go
for us all to hear.
And I’m still out here in the atmosphere,
Yeah, you could say to me,
“You just haven’t met the right fella.”
And I would say back to you,
“You’re probably right.”
But I’d still sit here, secretly deflating,
because I cannot fathom being
the void that someone else
steps in to fill.
I mean, I’m sorta just okay here,
do I have the right to whine
when no one understands me?