Other reasons I am not a poet. This one by request.
You are the bad boyfriend that looks good standing at the end of a bar. You bite, you stay too long. You are useless. You are nothing but hurt but you don’t go away. You want nothing but blood. You bring despair and heartache.
And you aren’t that cute. You are worse. You are big and think you have are more than you are other than your wings, which are admittedly sturdy but once we learn your evil ways, we can destroy you but we have to see you first.
You are a bully.
Yet it takes us time. And your teeth, or your fangs, bite so hard. They are pain and you must leave. And we must rethink that you do not care. That you don’t love. That you are what we have to run from.
Your vicious teeth bite too hard and too deep. You stay only for a moment and then you leave. You are the leech of insects. You destroy and yet you come back, smelling the scent of summer on my skin. And it is too enticing. You take joy from the sun and you know you do.
And then it changes, when the smell of the woods and chemicals touch my skin, you penetrate my skin without permission and then you perish. You do not ask, you just take as do I.
I am not here to hurt you, but please, don’t hurt me.
You are like a bad lover and you are hurt.
Stop hurting me. There is no reason.
Why, horsefly, why?
Reasons why I am a bad poet.