When I first glimpsed you, weeks ago
I thought for sure I’d found “the One.”
You laughed and winked and moved in slow,
The sun shone down on your gold man-bun.
Alas, I was blinded by that light
But there is something I can’t ignore.
I can’t deny — you’re built just right
But dear, you’re something of a bore.
And so I’m stuck with inner war
You look at me, and I must swoon
But lis’ning has become a chore
I block my ears and hum a tune
And now I know this to be true:
That it’s not me, my dear, it’s you.