It's Not

This one won't be about you.
Even though I'm sure,
you think it will be.
But it's not.
Too much paper,
has been wasted on you.
Why go through it all again?
I wish you knew,
but you don't.
And when?
No.
You'll never know.
My pen will know,
before you know.
So it's not.
Not about you,
Unless it's this:
saying it's not.
Because I'm over you,
your staccato moods,
your stubborn blankness,
your shiny countenance.
Your not.
Nothing I thought.
It's not.
Not working,
Not happy,
Not you.
This isn't about you.
"Why?"
You might ask.
My answer:
Because.
It's just not.

