He wanted something
easier than you.
That is not to say
you are a challenge
or that she is cheap,
rather, that he is weak.

Oh how she tried to impress. Oh how she fought to put the worm on the hook. With patients of a saint she fought the mosquitos and flies on a clear and sunny day. After all the plays and gallery openings, finally she agreed to do one thing I liked. Manicured nails and highlights in her hair, she endured wildlife hell on earth. Slinging her rod and reel in a wild flailing motion, I watched true beauty in rare form. Despite snagging herself with a wormy hook and pulling in a fish that nearly got the boat turned over. I would not trade our fishing date for anything, because now I know she truly loves me.

Humans like to think
Other humans are
Replaceable.
Humans like to think
That they themselves
Are not.

But let me let you in on a secret:
Everyone is either a lesson
Or a blessing.

No lesson can be replaced,
And neither can any blessing.

Because in some way,
They were necessary to make you who you are.

I was told recently
About a book.
"The Missing Piece" by Shel Silverstein.

The lesson I was given from this book,
Is that you can have all kinds of pieces!
Pieces that don't fit, pieces that would never fit,
And pieces that look like they should fit but don't at all.

So if you ever feel replaceable,
Remember you are someone's perfect missing piece.
You just have to sort out through all the not-so perfect pieces first.

And before I cut this off,
I should explain,
Your perfect piece is not perfect because it is perfect in the textbook definition of the word.
Your piece is perfect
Because you will be so completely perfect to someone (All your damage, broken parts, and scars too) that you will not need to be perfect, no.

You will just have to be you,
And that in itself
Is irreplaceable.

Don't you think it's just a bit funny that
Maybe you could have liked me had she not
Waltzed about with her perky ***** and flawless
Life hiding under ten pounds of ***** rouge because
For a while that's what I called her not because I truly
Believed that was what she is but only out of the thoughts that
If not for her I'd still have a chance don't you think it's the least
Bit hilarious that as soon as your relationship began our
Friendship seemed to have disappeared and now
I'm stuck here regrettably in love with you and
Leaving class the second you walk in  if only
Because I begin to panic with anxiety and heartbreak my
Heart is broken because of you and I spend hours
Awake crying when I really should be sleeping but
I suppose this is the way of the world but you should know
That if this is you exhibiting your godliness then
I don't want to know your god because he seems
Cruel and partial and mean to those
Who were not born into his beliefs and if I was
Created in his image then **** I want to
Die because you're not the nice man I thought
You were but merely a teenage boy

Ive always wondered why you still hold onto me tight,
We were together eons ago,
I told you long ago our future wasn't bright.
*So why don't you let me go?

I.
This is just another bad poem
Just vomited-thoughts-left-on-paper poem
This is a collection of grammatical errors
This would surely make my English teacher cringe
But no worries, I didn’t write this for her

II.
This bad poem is for you

May my subject and verb disagreement
remind you of all those misunderstandings that lead to raised voices
and nights where I cried myself to sleep

Sentence construction was never my strength, it still isn’t, maybe that’s why you never truly understood me—
called me difficult and bipolar
You said that I was too much

Did it ever occur to you that you might just misread me, like homonyms,
same words but with different meanings
misread my jealousy with accusations,
my concern for excessive affection

You said that I loved you too much
but darling, did you even love me at all?

Did I put too much meaning on your words,
turned them into similes and metaphors?
Turned your literal statements into figures of speech
You told me that you liked me,
so I blissfully interpreted it as a hyperbolic expression— called it love when obviously it wasn’t

III.
I was never good at using punctuations
I put too much commas,
unnecessary, misused, I kept trying to hold on
Afraid of the inevitable end,

Switched to semi-colons in an attempt to make it a few words longer

Because despite all our grammatical errors
no matter how shameful our piece of literature was to the English language

It was beautiful to the untrained eye,
To those who read poetry as it is
To those who don’t dig deep in search of true meaning behind the metaphors
It was beautiful to me

But I eventually learned that infinitives and infinities are different,
in spite of sharing infinite as the root word
Like our love,

started with something so promising
but unlike most novels,
there’s no happy ending

So I accepted defeat,
accepted the inevitable and bitter end
No more committing the same mistakes over and over again,
the same words over and over again,

Accepted the fact that synonyms existed,
words with the same meaning but also entirely different
new and unfamiliar, foreign and peculiar

IV.
I accepted defeat
No more commas or semi-colons
We have reached the couplet of our free formed sonnet—

I was never good with endings, I don’t think I’ll ever be,
So darling I hand you the pen, set us both free.