A Perfect Love

It’s so much fun to pretend to be the person you are when you’re in love.

And it makes you lesser, and feel lesser when you’re not him.

That wonderful, talented, attractive man that you were, that she loved, that you loved.

And now it’s moved on, and he’s gone, and there’s you.

The man that you are. Not all that you could be. And your warts start to show.

And in rooms not kept clean and in tears that she’s seen, and in anger and pain and in rage, all the memories of you that you shared are now dew, and evaporating from the page.

Here’s to the Women,

all lovestruck and lovelorn who are people they’re not,

and cannot continue to be,

just to be, for a while, perfectly in love.

And here’s to the Men, who again,

are never the people they actually are,

until it’s just you,

and the you that he knows,

with the unpleasant toes and the scars and the stretch marks and moods.

And you know that he sees you.

The woman you are. Not all that you could be.

All that you have been. And will never be again.

Here’s to the newlyweds, In quarreling arms,

in fits and in spats, in hot and in cold, and in death you do part.

Here’s to the couples who love in good faith

and are true and themselves when they woo, but in vain.

Here’s to the bachelors, the spinsters, the cowards,

who count down their lives by the minutes and hours –

who would never share their precious time,

their sacred days,

and terrifying weeks,

and lonely years. And here’s

To the actors.

Who strive each day to play the parts they’ve long outgrown.

Who go to work in the morning and bring romance home.

Who wake each other up with stories or sex or gossip or just for love.

Who grip Time’s fist and fight him, bleeding,

to roll with the punches,

and keep up the show.

They have intermissions,

they have to take breaks,

and take off the greasepaint and go for a fag…

but sooner or later, the drama comes calling

and on come the stagelights

and up comes the curtain,

and you’re there again.

The people you were, and are, and all that you can be.

And though you are pretending, you have,

and always will,

a perfect love.


Wow, okay so I really like this one. It’s probably a spoken word piece more than it is a poem, but I broke t up like it’s meant to be read, so hopefully you can still get the gist of it.

Hit me up on twitter @Sellpen. Seriously, I’m lonely up here.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s