i can’t remember how many times i’ve been told
that the language of love is all i speak.
i laugh and say that
“i am a poet,
young love and
dead love and
to-the-grave love,
i sing of them as i sleep
and dream of them once i wake.”

we as poets surely know that
no amount of unsent letters
will bring her back to bed.
we know that we cannot charm our ways
into the hearts of anyone worthwhile
with our words alone.
and we know that cigarettes aren’t cute and
that pregnant women never drink alone
and that tripping on acid is not poetic,
it’s just really freaking stupid.

let me know why no one writes poetry
to commend the humble playground swing
who hardly even creaks in dissent as
another parent plops another screaming baby onto it.
and it pains this poor swing that
Daddy gets to be so blissfully unaware
of the very full and angry diaper,
and that they are the one to stare it in the face
because that’s just what swings do.
we could spin this tale into a revolution
if we cared a little less about our next first kiss.

when the pen meets the paper,
we find it easy to forget about
the girl gazing deep into her soup
because instead of boy-watching,
she is wishing death on her mother
for adding the lentils but forgetting the peas.

the great poets of ages past and present
make every bathroom trip a journey.
panicked sprints to catch the bus
are part of God’s plan, no doubt.
and she only hated the sweater you bought her
to celebrate her summer birthday because
“it was the very same shade of gray
that painted the sky when her boyfriend
traded her in for a broad with thicker thighs
or maybe even for a guy with socks twice as high”.

dear poets, for the love of love,
please don’t drown in her eyes anymore
because i won’t be there to rescue you again.
quit searching her freckles
for constellations in the dark
and just relax for once.
enjoy how naked she is.
and don’t say that the moon
is your old friend from high school
unless the yearbook photos can prove it.

these mountains in our minds
have every right to be molehills,
and sometimes it’s okay to
let the ocean just be the ocean.