G in the boredom diary

The wierdest part of the boredom diary is how boring

It is. I heard you, g, I say I heard you, I have no proof, g

No photograph, nothing to hold onto, so I place you

In my diary. Started texting, unravelling how

I’ve felt. It’s nothing, just how boring life is

Without you to tell jokes to. Mum got up early

I accidentally hurt her arthritic disabled arm

I was so busy writing a poem, by then, the neighbours

Had already started shouting, how I sleep

With animals, but I never, in fact, do. I had a shower

Went out for a walk, saw you. Started texting

You, unravelling again, as if there were no such other thing…

So dull, without you. Two years pass simply like this

And everyone’s talking, but the most I do is dishes

Or walk to the chemist, life passed mundanely

With nothing to talk about, but what are they talking

About, I wonder how are they talking about nothing

Looking at mum, confused: are you still mum? Gazing

At them talking behind my back. What have I ever done

Exceptional, to comment in my diary of boredom

What you think I do? All I do is think about all you

Yes. You’re all in the boredom diary. Doodling in its

Margins, a loveheart: the boring truth. Love poem

In a mad escape from a dull life, come, I’ll go find

Love with you, walk into a rendezvous, a honeymoon