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Browsing Tag: #unrequitedlove
I could write about unrequited loveOr barely suppressed hateFor I have both in spadesThis unseasonable November dayBut maybe I won’t write about either- Since it’s expectedAnd will purge insteadOf the act of cleaning my teethMeticulously Or how about How badly I desire Oreo cookiesPerhaps I should be the one to sayThat really the leaves weren’t that striking this yearAt leastNot where I stoodBut you are still waiting aren’t youFor me to fulfill the emotionHeld in checkShould I tell-Neither are a secretNot in the traditional sense But noIt’s like how I have been wanting to watch a movieBut I won’t Because then you wouldn’t have your poemAnd have your poem you shallI don’t remember what I set out to doBecause it is now January All the color faded from the worldAll the glitter and sparkles packed awayFor another yearAnd where will it find meI sat out On my birthdayThe halfway point almostAnd gathered my courageAnd walked to the edge of the yielding limbAnd JUMPEDI couldn’t bring my words backI didn’t want to anywayAnd even though they weren’t repeatedI still know the truthEven though you pretend you don’t And yesterday Proved something else I thought I knewBut it turned my stomach unexpectedly More words that have been spokenAnd won’t go backYears of loaded looks Harmless flirtingBut is it harmless, really?So here I am Writing more wordsConvincing myself it’s all realThat love still existsBut it rarely comes…
I wish I could hate himThat’s what the poems would sayIf the poets were honestBecause it’s too hardI don’t have the energyTo be ScarlettNor do I haveThe sensibility I can’t help my heartAnd it rarely helps meBut the poets will gather their willAnd their quillsAnd find a quiet cornerOr perhaps a bench under a willow treeTo bleed their soulAnd maybeIf they really meant itThey’d put rocks in their pocketsAnd walk steadilyTill they were over their headsDying beautifully And tragically Just like their poem said they wouldProbably the daffodilIn their lapel Wouldn’t even lose a petalAs they flung themselves off a cliffBut me?In a rageMy hair wild and unbound and unbrushedFlinging crockeryAnd maybe a high heeled shoeSpitting venomSo harshlyMy throat would be sore for daysHaving a plan that involvesKerosene and a matchbookFrom a bar calledThe Wayward ThistleAnd a knife clenched between my teethAnd yetI remember to be a ladyAnd so I sit placidly With my sonnetsWriting about unrequited loveAnd bourbon cherriesBecause peaches are overdoneJust like roses…
