Van Gogh
Cut his ear off and mailed it to a ******* in a box
For you I'd rip my heart out, ship it on a silver plate
And you'd
Reject it, like they've frequently done, every one,
Van Gogh's *****, you, her, all of them, cold souls.
Perhaps
Not, quite possibly I'm wrong, the reason
For rejections isn't cold, concrete souls,
And it's
Our fault, the writer, the painter,
We, the foolish artists, that
Decide
To package organs in
The mail for our loves,
That is,
Now that I think
It through,
Very
Strange.
Also poetic.
Artsy even.
So please,
Send a thank you note in return
At the very least.
And no, not a restraining order.
(And to end with a generic line
About poetry and the bard:
All these poems are my heart.
All of them.
So, here, take this,
I'm bleeding out for you.)
(Wait, what do you mean you only take cash?)
My newest one and I think it came out awesome. Funny, and the lines are counted so it's got some structure. Guys, this one is a masterpiece. Take it. Like it, I know you did. Also, it's the first poem I write since my birthday soooo... Good start to age 18. (2013)