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.