(A poem on hormones, written in a very strange style)
When I hear someone say
In that odd, airy way—
Or hear them declare
To the wide open air—
That they're Magically, Gloriously, Madly in LOVE
Up roll my eyes
And withheld are my sighs
That would escape from me thus
Having dodged all this fuss
I make my thanks to the heavens above.
For I see in the eyes of those struck by LOVE'S ARROW
More often than not that LOVE'S gone like a sparrow:
Here for a moment, then with a sweep of the wings
Off to perch on much grander things…
Surely when your eyes meet 'tis a wondrous affair
For the rest of the class you are walking on air
Choirs of angels resound through the nation—
But please, spare me such infatuation.
Blind worship is reserved for religion solely
And likewise, a crush is only deemed holy
In the beholder's narrow sight, which will never see wrong—
Only what they've wished to see all along.
I cannot make clear
How the problems are near
When such LOVE will grow
How well do you know
The object of your adoration?
Are you in love—with love, not someone?
Do want that S.O., or just to become one?
Whatever it be
It just isn't for me
So spare me such infatuation.