A picture on my phone

I recognize this face

For many years it has been known

Always left a special trace.

And then I do what I do best

I know I can do this I say out loud

And think and write a dumb text

Not even a typo, making me proud

And then a fantasy turns around

Like an old brown and dusty globe

now I am able to say I found

the courage to whisper: I hope-

Hope that has never been my friend

But I am blinded once again

Not seeing the nearing end

Of the love story with my Ken.

My Ken as beautiful as the moon,

Like the last golden sunshine,

He is October and not June

He’s 7 times 7 equals 49

He looks like autumn forest green

And smells like old spices

He is the opposite of mean

And knows how to solve a crisis.

He doesn’t care what others say

Doesn’t follow any dumb trends

But as fast as he was here he went away

Making me realize all good ends.

For me good never becomes great

People usually title me as rougher

Then the people they wanna date,

So Farewell my almost lover.