Rowan
01-17-2014, 02:15 PM
I wrote a poem a few days ago, which I really don't do all that often. Now that I finally did, I did find myself wondering what others might think of it. I figured this was the right place!
It's a love poem, because God knows we don't have enough of those. Here we go!
If I had known the things that I now know when I needed to know them most
I’d have shown you my chest a jar, my heart a pickle, and asked you to open this thing that some people somehow managed to shut so tight.
I’d have asked God to dust off his soundboard and give me the bad-American-sitcom-audience-laughter right after I’d ask you out. Do. You. Want to.
Getyournamemisspelledonastarbuckscoffee?
Because it’d be so right in such a wrong way. You who dawdled down the leafy path equipped with nothing more than smile and a summer day.
No.
No criminal records or murderous intend
Just ignorantly content with how you stole a part of me and locked it in a tower guarded by an emo-dragon that needs to ruin just one more young boy’s dream before retirement.
My life used to be a long battery of acts of un-heroic self-preservation. A less emo-dragon persuasion.
This then means that I shalt never do anything stupid, no coo-coo acts of dumb from me. Means I will never drive down the highway without at least wearing 25 seatbelts
My clothing will never have colours that could piss off animals. The reason I don’t live in a plastic ball is that I’d get lonely.
Given this make-Darwin-proud philosophy of me-me-me it is beyond me
That you force me to put my heart on the line
Your line. Force me into Cupid’s court without a lawyer, and I present to you exhibit A:
Asking people out is death-cause number one in a world that has cancer running through its veins and Exhibit B: My heart that pumps over a thousand times a day so that you can have your way. My way going your way your goddamned deader than dead-end-way. Your way, your law, your whim
I’d get expelled from court for misbehaviour and spend my night in a cold cell with a cold toilet that has no rim
My dignity in the bin, and now convinced of “original sin” I plea and ask thee one more time
Pass that goddamned wine.
How could you do this to a man who doesn’t even know how the ethereal workings of a tie bend their way around a man’s neck? A man who has never paid his own bill and needs his dad to tell him what’s for dinner. He hasn’t written a will and hasn’t seen enough people die to see why, needs his mom to tell him that he’s a winner
But indeed. Elementary, Watson. I see now what I looked at but saw not before. I can take down the wanted poster and take back my promise of a finder’s fee consisting of a hug and two brownies
My make-Darwin-proud survival skills vanished when you seemed determined to convince me to think of imagining you
And me
Looking at the stars with you, looking at you with you, and seeing no difference.
And all that in conclusion has made me a grade A-jackass. You are in fact, all growing more stupid for having me in the same room, in fact
My brain has become a potato on a string serving your whim from end to begin and has educated himself in a PHD of wimp.
They, they being other people whose heart has turned Harry Houdini, they. They say that love changes you
Given the evidence I drew the short end of that stick and have turned into an idiot-shaped dick that, given the evidence, wants to give you a mix-CD of your favourite me’s. Wants to stand outside your bedroom window and throw tiny pieces of my heart at it because pebbles won’t do
I am now the Wikipedia certified definition of a fool
Who given the evidence
Given all the cursed, (pink), evidence, thinks that sucky people only exist because God ran out of awesome when he worked his clay with you
As in,
God rested on that seventh day because the day before he had reason to say
GODDAMN, GIRL.
LOOK AT YOU.
YOU BEAUTIFUL.
All that said, and given all evidence.
My heart’s exodus,
my love’s migration.
my summary execution,
will begin, start, and end with
Hello? You..
No?
Okay.
Any thoughts are appreciated!
It's a love poem, because God knows we don't have enough of those. Here we go!
If I had known the things that I now know when I needed to know them most
I’d have shown you my chest a jar, my heart a pickle, and asked you to open this thing that some people somehow managed to shut so tight.
I’d have asked God to dust off his soundboard and give me the bad-American-sitcom-audience-laughter right after I’d ask you out. Do. You. Want to.
Getyournamemisspelledonastarbuckscoffee?
Because it’d be so right in such a wrong way. You who dawdled down the leafy path equipped with nothing more than smile and a summer day.
No.
No criminal records or murderous intend
Just ignorantly content with how you stole a part of me and locked it in a tower guarded by an emo-dragon that needs to ruin just one more young boy’s dream before retirement.
My life used to be a long battery of acts of un-heroic self-preservation. A less emo-dragon persuasion.
This then means that I shalt never do anything stupid, no coo-coo acts of dumb from me. Means I will never drive down the highway without at least wearing 25 seatbelts
My clothing will never have colours that could piss off animals. The reason I don’t live in a plastic ball is that I’d get lonely.
Given this make-Darwin-proud philosophy of me-me-me it is beyond me
That you force me to put my heart on the line
Your line. Force me into Cupid’s court without a lawyer, and I present to you exhibit A:
Asking people out is death-cause number one in a world that has cancer running through its veins and Exhibit B: My heart that pumps over a thousand times a day so that you can have your way. My way going your way your goddamned deader than dead-end-way. Your way, your law, your whim
I’d get expelled from court for misbehaviour and spend my night in a cold cell with a cold toilet that has no rim
My dignity in the bin, and now convinced of “original sin” I plea and ask thee one more time
Pass that goddamned wine.
How could you do this to a man who doesn’t even know how the ethereal workings of a tie bend their way around a man’s neck? A man who has never paid his own bill and needs his dad to tell him what’s for dinner. He hasn’t written a will and hasn’t seen enough people die to see why, needs his mom to tell him that he’s a winner
But indeed. Elementary, Watson. I see now what I looked at but saw not before. I can take down the wanted poster and take back my promise of a finder’s fee consisting of a hug and two brownies
My make-Darwin-proud survival skills vanished when you seemed determined to convince me to think of imagining you
And me
Looking at the stars with you, looking at you with you, and seeing no difference.
And all that in conclusion has made me a grade A-jackass. You are in fact, all growing more stupid for having me in the same room, in fact
My brain has become a potato on a string serving your whim from end to begin and has educated himself in a PHD of wimp.
They, they being other people whose heart has turned Harry Houdini, they. They say that love changes you
Given the evidence I drew the short end of that stick and have turned into an idiot-shaped dick that, given the evidence, wants to give you a mix-CD of your favourite me’s. Wants to stand outside your bedroom window and throw tiny pieces of my heart at it because pebbles won’t do
I am now the Wikipedia certified definition of a fool
Who given the evidence
Given all the cursed, (pink), evidence, thinks that sucky people only exist because God ran out of awesome when he worked his clay with you
As in,
God rested on that seventh day because the day before he had reason to say
GODDAMN, GIRL.
LOOK AT YOU.
YOU BEAUTIFUL.
All that said, and given all evidence.
My heart’s exodus,
my love’s migration.
my summary execution,
will begin, start, and end with
Hello? You..
No?
Okay.
Any thoughts are appreciated!