Reasons Why I Hate Writing Love Poems (In Three Parts)

Part 1: The Beginning 

I hate when the pen touches the page at first stroke

Feeling like that first stroke of first time lovers

Vulnerably awkward

But still willing to be fully nude on this maiden voyage

Clichés scribbled on pages; cadences of

"I Love You’s “and "I miss you’s”

And how I can make various forms of metaphors to describe your body parts

And make them sound deep

When they mean absolutely nothing

Like…

 

Our souls are intertwined double helix when I look inside the reflection

Of your pupils

Hourglass frame I want to spend eternity in that I see my only seed
Flood a nation out of
Yo’ belly button… Is a Wishing well…

 

 

Part2: The Body (AKA when the poem actually gets real)

Let me float on the lazy river falling freely from your irises

A soft hue that kisses your skin as passionately as I do

My arms around your waist

Chest to back

Chin to shoulder

Hands, interlocking like the shackled chains 

Around Mother Africa's children

Tell momma Africa I only want this one

Let me steal her only daughter 

Make an Amistad out of my vessel just sail across 

Your body of water

But this relationship will be consensual 

 

Part3: The Ending 

I have a habit of ending love poems with ellipses

I.E. A nonverbal (…)

I have a history of past love poems standing motionlessly

Still fossilized relic remains of past girlfriends 

Finger prints and lipstick that end after the punctuation of my pen on her page

An ellipsis gives me a hope to continue with you

Let us be together 

Meet each other halfway like two hands calloused from sins

Like toothbrushes to toothpaste

Like Ru-Paul to his wigs

We are fabulous together

Continue to smile

Relationships are like rings

Never knowing where this love began or will end

When you get one

All you see at first is an infinite cycle that's golden/

But, can we last forever?

 

Interlude:

I guess not…

Vanity is the pursuit of eternity

Understand nothing lasts forever

Immortal are the lives of diamonds

But over time, even they lose their luster

 

Heartbeats banging against sternum

Inflamed from love sick butterflies
fluttering in stomach

Is what a ticking time bomb feels like inside

Arteries be the wires

And you will die if you cut them off

So let it explode
So your soul soars into the pitch black sky

Sparking its ebony with its light

Show the world how beautiful this pain is

How beautiful love is
The sound

The feel

The taste
The touch

 

But never sight

Because everyone falls blindly
Like cataracts over aging lenses

Become hazy to cloudy to foggy to nothing

And when the sparks stop streaking

Night becomes day

And you watch your ashes turn cold

Pray

 

Ask God to be with you as you rebuild from the ash

Heartache is death wish

But love is the most beautiful thing you have chosen to commit suicide with

So pray

And you tell God this:
 

The next time, If I ever love again,

Just let it be beautiful…

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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