I just wish my foolish heart would learn.  

I guess it loves the cycle: feeling hopeful, then getting hurt.  

This is the only time I wish I were hopeless.  

Maybe the deep feeling of gloom would scar my heart  

to the point of no return.  

Funny enough, I am a hopeless romantic—what a weird word.  

I just want the hopeless.  

I wish my heart would unlearn the romance part.

I keep hoping, keep being optimistic.  

But yet another butterfly when I get a ping,  

another quirky introduction,  

another guessing game,  

another night staying up late,  

another pointless phone call,  

another gut-wrenching, nervous-racking date…  

another failed talking stage,  

another ghost.  

I hate talking about myself.  

And feels like I’m marketing my favorite color.  

But I’m a hopeless romantic.  

Honestly, if you should as me: hopelessness or romance ?  

I wish my foolish heart would choose the former .  

I wish my foolish heart would learn,  

would take a break—  

Like a break, not actually break. You know what I mean.  

But I am what I am:  

a hopeless romantic at heart.  

Sigh. This foolish heart.  

-Natalia Mason

---

Check out my other poems.