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When I read poems I’ve noticed a pattern

Love is often the subject at hand

I want to write like everyone else

Because I want to know I’m doing it right

But I can’t write of love

When I’ve never felt it

So I will tell you

What it’s like not to feel love

Sometimes I read stories of fiction

Weaving them around me as if they are my own

Because sometimes I don’t like life

I want to take on someone else’s pleasure

And that is the extent of love I might feel

Love felt through someone else

Then there is my writing

I write stories the way I read them

Never experienced them myself

But I’ve read enough to be knowledgable

Just not enough to satisfy

When I sit in a coffee shop or restaurant

I like to watch others interact

And I wonder as I watch them snuggle or kiss

If they’re love is as strong as what I write

I can’t properly define a human emotion I don’t feel

Perhaps that’s why there’s a block

That keeps my childish fantasies just that

I can never progress as I know I have

And when pen hits paper and trails its ink

The words I write don’t mean a thing