I’ve been looking at the archives,
reading some of the older material
I’ve written
over the earlier heartbreaks
and, great gosh a’mighty,
there were a lot of them.
Strangely, most of the heartaches
that were described in previous poems
never seemed to involve another actual person,
but whatever.

It’s strange to read
how this earlier Jon dealt
with the cards he received.
It’s strange, also,
to read that earlier Jon’s way around a sentence.
It ain’t always pretty.

But pretty consistently
it’s the story of a full grown man
acting like a big baby boy
pricking his finger on a splinter
and whiling away the weeks
waiting for it
to work its way out.
It’s slow
annoying.
It’s loud for everyone else around
and it’s no big deal.

Every time
that Jon thinks he’s never gonna get over the pain he’s currently experiencing regarding this girl or that.
Every time
that vintage Jon bellows
of megafauna-sized pain
but from this later perspective
it’s harder for me to muster the proper sympathy.

Maybe I’m just not that good a writer.