What might have been

Creative writing,
I once thought that I wanted you
for my major

Since my girlhood,
you were my dream, everything I wanted
for myself

When our time came,
your face, your voice was so different
from my dreams

You turned out to be

a drunk professor
who cancelled class when he couldn’t find parking
and told me I had no poetic voice
but didn’t tell me where to find it

a black-clad student
who believed that to be a true poet meant
to forego shoes and shower infrequently
and to write weekly free verse odes to his penis

another black-clad student
who told me that good poetry came from
good f***ing. She also wrote many odes
to penises. And cockroaches (I never got the connection)

So we parted ways.
I was confused. I didn’t fit in
with any of your friends
and you had very few kind words
for me.

For years I used you as an excuse
but I dropped that act a while back.
Would I be any better now
if I had stuck it out? seen you through?
Perhaps we’ll never know.
I’m not sure if you care,
but I still kind of do.

This is in response to readwritepoem's NaPoWriMo prompt # 11.