This is a poem. It's not a regular poem. It's a poem written from the heart, rather than from the mind. It isn't going to make sense to most of you, but that's OK. Poems don't need to make sense to everyone. If they did, there would never be any discussion in your literature classes. However, I feel as though this poem will make less sense if you don't know the full story. There's one person here who, for all intents and purposes, should remember the story upon reading this poem; but, if he doesn't, that's OK, too; I don't expect him to. He's got other things to worry about, you know; I mean, he does have to run this Web site. If he didn't, we'd have nowhere to post. Well, anyway, this is a poem. It's not a regular poem. (I feel like I already said that, don't you?) There's this girl... She's beautiful. Nothing compares to her, and I don't think anything ever will. There's a wholesome beauty about her that I don't think will ever be matched. (Well, unless you count Jennifer Lawrence.) Her eyes are... an amazing shade of green, and looking into them is like looking into the most beautiful forest you've ever seen. Her hair is golden like the sunlight at noon, and when you look away, you've looked away too soon. She's got a smile that can brighten your day, and I've seen it dozens of times, so listen to what I've got to say. (I'm sorry; that seemed kind of pushy, didn't it?) Anyway, this is a poem. It's not a regular poem. (Hm. I feel like we've heard that before.) Her personality is akin to setting off fireworks inside a water balloon: she's all-at-once fiery, but she'll soothe all your wounds. I've never experienced it, but I'm sure her touch is gentle. (I've also never experienced this, but I'm sure she's an BEAST in the SHEETS. D'you see how I made that rhyme? Shut up. Fuck you. This is my poem. Don't judge me.) I've wasted a lot of time in my life... None more so than the time I spent NOT pursuing this girl. I could've had her, if I wanted her; and God knows I wanted her. Before you ask, this attraction wasn't sexual-- at least, not at first. The thing that attracted me to her were those emerald green eyes, and her intoxicating smile. Even though I never talked to her, I found myself becoming defensive when people would discuss what they wanted to "do to her." It was infuriating that someone as amazing as this should be subject to these comments. As I've gotten older, I've learned that the hesitation is what ruins all your chances. To be sure, they've ruined mine. I don't think I've got a chance in hell with her, and I don't ever expect to. If I do, though, you can be sure she'll be treated like a princess. If she tells me she needs to let down her hair, then let down her hair she shall; if she tells me she needs to go on a magic carpet ride, then on a magic carpet right she shall go; if she tells me she wants a bite out of that extremely suspicious apple we just found lying around on the ground, well, that's where I'll draw the line, I suppose. Anyway, this is a poem. It's not a regular poem. (Hmmm.) I'm not sure what I wanted to accomplish with this, other than to get it off my chest that I've never lost feelings for my first real crush. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her, and I'd love to think that she feels the same way, but I know she doesn't. If there was one thing I could say to her, it would be this: I'm sorry I never approached you; I'm sorry I never at least had the courage to say hello; I'm sorry that any sort of potential relationship never worked out on the sole basis that I was too much of a chicken-shit to talk to you. I'm sorry. Look on the bright side, though: No matter who you're with, no matter what you're going through, you'll always have a secret admirer. That's pretty cool, right? Constance: I love you. It might not be mutual... Actually, scratch that-- I KNOW it's not mutual... Anyway, this is a po-- Ha-ha, just kidding. Anyway, this is a poe-- FUCK. I don't know how to go on now... Every time I've said "anyway," I've followed it with "this is a poem." I've got to find some way to break this chain... Let's see... Hm... Anywho, (I DID IT!) Constance: I love you, and I know you don't love me, but I'd like to think that, in an alternate reality somewhere, I was man enough to talk to you ten years ago, and, to this day, we're still happily together. That thought alone makes me smile, and is enough for me to carry on.
Is this serious? Seems like a very long in joke. Not saying this in a negative way... just a bit.. confused?