I am ashamed to be head of the Poetry department right now.
So get up off your lazy arses and write a damn poem!
Look, here, I'll do it right now (BTW it's a lame love poem):
My First Love
Sometimes, I want to kill him
Sometimes, I want to kiss him
But either way, it won’t happen.
I’m not the kind of girl
Who reads Harlequin Romances,
Who stares at her crush without even blinking
For fear that he’ll disappear
And I’m not the kind of girl who will admit to caring.
I’m not the kind of girl to write love poems
Or songs about that perfect kiss
Because I never believed in love, and I don’t believe in perfection.
Maybe he’s sweet
Maybe he’s smart
Maybe he flirts with everything that breathes
Maybe he’s a jerk
Maybe he’s imperfect.
But what is love, other than hormones
That have been stirred together
To create figurative, emotional fireworks?
I used to be afraid of feelings
Before I realized that all they are is a brain chemical or two
That are making themselves known.
Love is not an act that is brought on by characteristics.
We are like ions.
Opposites attract, more often than not.
That was what I dismissed it as.
And then I met you.
You were like a mask, a disguise--
You freed me to be whatever I wanted to be.
Like Cinderella in her own little corner,
I became a Parisian at the Eiffel Tower,
A pharaoh at the pyramids--
Or maybe just a girl getting her first corsage.
All thoughts of brain chemicals disappeared
In a flash
Like fireworks
And I became the girl who craved Harlequin romances
I became a girl who watched Titanic
And didn’t laugh--I cried. (Sappy of me, right?)
I became a girl who didn’t correct people over grammar anymore.
I began to write love poetry.
So here is my love poem.
I heard a quote in a terrible romantic comedy
And I made fun of it,
But it kind of describes me now:
“A terrible love letter asks for love in return.
I’m not asking for returned love. And that’s what makes this
My best love letter, ever.”
I’m not asking for love, I’m really not.
I won’t ask for that
Not on my first try at the damn thing--I’m likely to mess it up.
You have made me free and all I can do
Is try to return the favor.
Maybe you will humiliate me
Or maybe you will reciprocate
And--in this unlikely fantasy--like ions, we two opposites will attract
Like magnets with no ebb on their strength.
Those are my hopes.
I don’t want to be Cinderella, or a Parisian, or a pharaoh, or even just a girl getting her first corsage
I want to be me, with you as my liberator.
I cannot say that love poems amount to much.
In practically every single romantic comedy I have ever been forced to watch,
The girl becomes ridiculed for her feelings.
Is that why our fellow peers are cruel?: jealousy?
Perhaps.
I do not pretend to know.
All I know is that my brain chemicals are fired up
Because of you
And whether you accept this or not--
Whether you even know that this poem is addressed to you
--those feelings won’t simply disappear
They cannot be hidden behind humiliation
Or time.
After all,
We always remember our first love.
Sometimes, I want to kill him
Sometimes, I want to kiss him
But either way, it won’t happen.
I’m not the kind of girl
Who reads Harlequin Romances,
Who stares at her crush without even blinking
For fear that he’ll disappear
And I’m not the kind of girl who will admit to caring.
I’m not the kind of girl to write love poems
Or songs about that perfect kiss
Because I never believed in love, and I don’t believe in perfection.
Maybe he’s sweet
Maybe he’s smart
Maybe he flirts with everything that breathes
Maybe he’s a jerk
Maybe he’s imperfect.
But what is love, other than hormones
That have been stirred together
To create figurative, emotional fireworks?
I used to be afraid of feelings
Before I realized that all they are is a brain chemical or two
That are making themselves known.
Love is not an act that is brought on by characteristics.
We are like ions.
Opposites attract, more often than not.
That was what I dismissed it as.
And then I met you.
You were like a mask, a disguise--
You freed me to be whatever I wanted to be.
Like Cinderella in her own little corner,
I became a Parisian at the Eiffel Tower,
A pharaoh at the pyramids--
Or maybe just a girl getting her first corsage.
All thoughts of brain chemicals disappeared
In a flash
Like fireworks
And I became the girl who craved Harlequin romances
I became a girl who watched Titanic
And didn’t laugh--I cried. (Sappy of me, right?)
I became a girl who didn’t correct people over grammar anymore.
I began to write love poetry.
So here is my love poem.
I heard a quote in a terrible romantic comedy
And I made fun of it,
But it kind of describes me now:
“A terrible love letter asks for love in return.
I’m not asking for returned love. And that’s what makes this
My best love letter, ever.”
I’m not asking for love, I’m really not.
I won’t ask for that
Not on my first try at the damn thing--I’m likely to mess it up.
You have made me free and all I can do
Is try to return the favor.
Maybe you will humiliate me
Or maybe you will reciprocate
And--in this unlikely fantasy--like ions, we two opposites will attract
Like magnets with no ebb on their strength.
Those are my hopes.
I don’t want to be Cinderella, or a Parisian, or a pharaoh, or even just a girl getting her first corsage
I want to be me, with you as my liberator.
I cannot say that love poems amount to much.
In practically every single romantic comedy I have ever been forced to watch,
The girl becomes ridiculed for her feelings.
Is that why our fellow peers are cruel?: jealousy?
Perhaps.
I do not pretend to know.
All I know is that my brain chemicals are fired up
Because of you
And whether you accept this or not--
Whether you even know that this poem is addressed to you
--those feelings won’t simply disappear
They cannot be hidden behind humiliation
Or time.
After all,
We always remember our first love.
There, my out-of-thin-air poem. Lykie? Coral? Mockinjay? ...I'm severely disappointed in all of you. Two months of free time!
Therefore, my next act as head of the Poetry department is to work on the July poetry contest. Get ready!
