Like my thousand audience show,
you wait to hear my next creation,
and although it is not about you,
your granny smith eyes,
your Chris Pine-like face,
you say “I’d love to listen.”

In that moment, I don’t say
what I originally plan to say,
the words of a poem about a boy
who isn’t you.
Instead, I say what’s on my mind,
and not the words on the screen before me.

“I want to marry you right now.
I want you to come home
and find a paper that says
“World War 3 is about to begin.”
And next to it, lies a ******* Nerf gun
or a squirt gun because
I’m ready to play.”

As you drift off to sleep on the other end
of the video screen, you say,
“It’s raw emotion” at the use of “*******."
As you say this, I finish the poem,
and can’t help but love you more.