They ask me who my first love was

And I say bukowski,

I think that says a lot about me.

They say he was an awful person,

Not worth loving.

But I understand how love and rage tangle up into a sickly sweet mixture

Impossible to give up

I know what it’s like to love the attention more than the person

Romanticizing them just so you don’t feel alone.

Bukowski would’ve never fell in love with a girl like me,

You yearn for what you are without.

No, me and him would’ve never fell in love

We would’ve drank from bottles and cursed at the stars

We would’ve sat in smoky dark rooms, reading over poems,

Carrying the other home, whiskey drunk and heartbroken

But never more