entrée that of a corollary

the meals are always ordinary, 

so I guess you could call this tale of mine cautionary. 

all because I didn’t bring someone extraordinary; 

our entrée choice is that of a corollary. 

but I get caviar 

after their heavy hearts, 

and I get asked about the changing faces, 

my answer followed by “you wouldn’t understand these cases”. 

my crayon is stolen as if was drawing, 

hush now, the adults are talking. 

I crack jokes so they won’t strike first, 

in that I’m well versed. 

but I honestly find it funny, 

so let me play the role of unlucky. 

“it’s better to talk to someone who understands”, 

they say, waiting for that jealous pang. 

it’s good they finally put that on writing, 

now I can finally stop trying. 

because I miss the times of confiscated notes, 

giggling on grass, lying on our coats. 

when we dared to dream of romance, 

because none of us actually stood a chance. 

I don’t want to feel sad, 

because I really don’t, 

but also because acknowledging my tears won’t 

make us meet this world’s demands. 

so I hope you understand.