Consider the couplets
Cohen sings,
And the rhyming lyrics
Rappers bring;
And tell me
That ain't poetry.

dear feet, I am sorry for dragging you around all this years
I am sorry that you never got the chance to feel the up and down motion known as a happy walk
dear legs, I am sorry for hurting you
I am sorry for leaving scars on your beautiful skin, I am sorry that I look at your marks of growth with disdain
dear hips, I am sorry for always squeezing you
I am sorry that when my pants are too small I still force you in
dear stomach, I am sorry for hating you
I am sorry for pinching and hiding you away
dear lungs, I am sorry for making your job harder
I am sorry to trying to poison you by standing too close to my uncle and his cigarettes
dear fingers, I am sorry for always scrubbing you too hard
I am sorry that I twist you all around when I am scare
dear hands, I am sorry for making you hurt me
I am sorry for making you scar my arms and legs
dear arms, I am sorry for pinching the skin on you
I am sorry for being disappointed in the fact that my bone isn't replacing the skin
dear shoulders, I am sorry for keeping a weight on you
I am sorry that you have never relaxed
dear face, I am sorry for covering you up
I am sorry for not loving the freckles that make me, me
dear lips, I am sorry for making you bleed
I am sorry that I bite you until you bleed
dear hair, I am sorry for chopping you off every time you begin to grow
I am sorry that you can't be long because I am scared of new things
dear body, I am sorry
I am sorry I don't love you but I am trying
I am trying to love you

I want to scream and yell
at you, Reader

"Why do you see the longer ones
and skip over them?"

These are the words I wrote
with my heart and soul
for you to read.

"Why do so many get a reading
when they are shorter than them above?"

These are words I quickly found
that do have meaning
but only in those seconds.

I wish you would become a reader
of longer, lingering thoughts.
Then you'll see into my soul
in different ways than I understand.

But truth be told,
I should yell at myself
for doing the same to you.

Dear Sir,

I think you are beautiful.

Because your eyes sparkle
Because your laugh smiles
Because your soul shines

Kind Sir I look at you
or I do not.

I see through these pages
Stories of pain and loss
Stories of joy and love

And through these pages I see you.

Kind Sir. Dear Sir. Just a Man.

Who is beautiful too.

about 250 years ago
young Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s tale of Werther’s
passionate unfulfilled love and ensuing suicide
triggered a wave of suicides across all Europe

the author was more than embarrassed  
it is reported he was actually quite shocked
by this effect of his romantic writ

from then on he avoided the portrayal
of hypersensitive romantic youths
    with their emotional entanglements
    and often fatal ends
and preferred dramas of the simpler sort

     like the eternal fight of good and evil
     the striving for almightiness and universal knowledge
     dilemmas of obedience and command
     et cetera

today, like then, young people
go through the stifling pains of unrequited love
and feel they hover at the brink of the abyss
    ready to jump

then, as today, young Werther’s suicide
is nothing but a waste of youthful life
that could have brought him many happy moments
had he allowed himself to stay alive

I want something that I cannot have. I cannot have it because I don't truly know what it is. I've seen it polished and propped as if it were on display and I've heard the stories of how much time and effort it took to make it look as such. But I want it. I want love. I want the idea of it at least.
I want the fights brought about by events simpler and less important than the time we wasted to have them. I want to be pained by the sight of her pain and know that the feeling of knives piercing my chest when I see her cry is there because I would literally drive them there myself, if only to prevent her tears.
I want our laughs to intertwine over the smallest things and our conversations to stretch our minds over the biggest. I want to see you sleep at night and I'll smile because I know that you're finally at peace. And I want you to smile when you wake up because you know that I'm fighting to make your reality better than your dreams.
I want love. I want romantic love, I want crazy love. I want passion. I want to pick you up in my arms and in that brief present get lost in your presence. I want to be in you when I am in you and have you wish that I would stay forever. I want to be in your heart and mind, and I want our love to be torturous and blind.
I just want love. I want the idea of it at least.