In grade seven, on Valentine's Day, I took my pink soccer t-shirt and wrote on it in sharpie "Forever Alone". I put a curse on myself and I don't know how to break it.
In grade eleven, I broke a mirror. Seven years of bad luck. This is the seventh year of my bad luck. Maybe after this year ends. Something will change. The curse will be lifted. Or maybe nothing will change.
While some people are chosen last for a sport. Imagine begin chosen never for love.
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Endlessly Falling
PoetryI have a slight problem. It is banal. Inconsiderable. Inconsequential. Insipid, vain, and trivial. Some might even some vapid or nugatory. So frivolous. But, to me it is kind of a biggie. Here's the deal. I have a problem with falling in love... re...
