He was everything I thought I would ever want, to ever want, to ever want…
He said the perfect words, whenever I needed to hear him speak.
And was perfectly silent, whenever I needed to hear him smile.
He finished my thoughts, with actions.
His walk rhymed
His eyes saw a better me into fruition
He created every time he was in my presence
And every few minutes, I would thank him
Just in case there was something I missed.
It was love at first sight, of the day
I swear it’s like I wrote you into existence
…because I did.
It’s easy to fall in love with the guy in your poems!!!
You wrote him!
He’s not real!
If you were a poem, I could easily love you.
If you were a song I wrote, then maybe you would finally be stuck in my head
If you were a joke, I’d tell you whenever I got nervous or felt awkward,
If you were a story, you would be my legacy…
But you’re none of those things,
You’re a guy, with all these other plans…
I’m tired of falling in love with questions,
Only to be let down by there answers…
Why act mysterious if you have nothing to reveal?
I’m tired of impressing you, until you lose my attention.
Is it too much to ask that my husband, my muse, and my king, all be the same man?
How lucky are you that this is just a poem you’re hearing, and not one you’re sharing
You were simply an idea; you died, when I thought you
Died again when I wrote you
And now a third time as I speak you
I can write about you all day, but at the end of the day…
All I’ve done is lie, and wait.
You keep throwing me Faberge feelings
Like I’m supposed to know who they’re meant for…
If you weren’t so fiction, I’d be much more enthusiastic
Less inclined to laugh when you say, I’m not like the other guys…
Just like the other guys do.
I would take you much more serious, if I haven’t met you before time and time again
I won’t be so quick to run blindfolded around in your soul
Breaking things and laughing
Demand my equilibrium away from me, and maybe you’ll have my attention.
You were supposed to be the one riddle I was in no rush to solve…
My Snapple fact.
I see you when the moon looks too big to be real.
You were supposed to help me change the world,
Or at the very least change my world
But instead you will always be great literature, wastefully read by a scientist
Or a beautiful algorithm wastefully attempted by a poet
I’ve written all these rules and stipulations…
But to be honest, I’m waiting for the guy with a canon for a voice, who hurricanes into my life and gently whispers “no, this is what you look for, in a man.”