Lame Attempt at a Love Poem

This is my lame attempt

at a love poem.

This piece of pathetic

Sad looking paper

should have been thrown away

a long time ago, but my hand

is tight

around my pencil.

If I move it might break off.

-

This is my lame attempt

at a love poem.

Am I supposed to write bitter words

on rough paper of a lover

who’s done me wrong?

Or of a bursting searing emotion

that bubbles up from

my heart to make me laugh?

I read some

sad,

lonely,

heartbroken poems

from this girl in my class.

-

This is my lame attempt

at a love poem.

She’s never been in love.

I know this is a fact.

We’re only fifteen

years old. So I know

she made it up.

Her poems are all the same.

Picturesque images of the

perfect guy with his

long lashes and

dangerously sensuous lips

that make you melt

(gracefully, of course),

saying that he loves you

and you only

(A load of shit.)

-

This is my lame attempt

at a love poem.

The way those girls

my age swing their hair

and say with their poisonous lips

“No, I love you.”

makes my knees sweaty

and my brain flinch

and my jaw lock

as words of searing criticism

lay unspoken on my tongue.

How can they know love?

Do they really feel it?

Or do they just rehearse those words

thinking it’s the truth?

If I ever say those words

I will hold them at

the tip of my tongue

And wait

And wait

Until the sweetness starts to hurt

Then I’ll free it in the air

So it can be carried to his ear

And his lips, they will smile

And have a piercing

through the side, I suppose

(I had to paint a picture

after all, this is a love poem).

-

That was my lame attempt

at a love poem.

And God was it pathetic.