This poor attempt at poetry a direct result of a brief annoyance with a co-worker and watching 'Bright Star' about John Keats and his love. I will admit the feelings brought about were a bit of back sliding to my previous harmonious state, but that is to be expected on a path of self-development. 

‘What is this social disease of singleness?

Ridicule, teasing, disguised by wishfulness of a time gone by for those bound to another. 

A threat for not bending to the world view of the ‘most important thing.’

I possess love in other ways the love of a friend, the love of a fun aunt, love of family.

Sometimes the love of a listening ear to a new acquaintance or roommate.

Are these loves diluted less important?

If I had romantic love I fear they would fall by the wayside. And they have been there for me always why should I trade them in.

I know they feed into my soul in ways a lover could not.

Why trade? For a chance and happiness and an equal chance at heartache, or a very least moments of discontent.

I wonder if I seem desperate cause I don’t feel that way.

Am I something of fiction a woman content enjoying the freedom of being single (after 30).

For the singleness may not last for much longer.’