"romcoms" poems
"You're my exception."
And then there is a kiss that pays no attention to my tears.
I have a stupid grin on my face.
My blanket is wrapped tighter than his fingers were around her wrist, begging her not to go.
My eyes swell up and the credits roll.
As I close my laptop, I close again my chest.
See, it was exposed.
So long. To the emotions and feelings and judgement of others.
I thought I could handle it, but my gut was ripped out.
My intestines were untangled on the floor.
It's funny how something labeled as "small" is really so big.
Kind of like love, you know?
It's a word. A noun. 4 letters. Nothing more.
But then you see it in action.
You see the beauty, the ugly, the loathing, the accepting.
Some see people holding hands, others see a man dying on a cross.
Some see the covering of a blanket and others see the covering of His blood.
But what enraptures us is what it is like when we are the scientist.
It's an addiction.
We crave the feeling.
We want to shoot up hand holding. We want smoke acceptance.
We cake our face in the ******* of beauty to fool the beholder all because we want to feel worthy enough to fight for.
Every person has this image plastered in their lids.
We see it, day in, day out.
We go to the deli thinking, "Maybe she was the one. Should I have said something?"
We go to the gym just to see this one guy who only comes in on Thursdays, Saturdays and twice on Tuesdays just because he can.
We try so hard.
We match our schedules up to people we have never even spoken to, because it's scripted.
It's in the movies so it must be real.
There must be magic. Fate. God. Someone.
Those stories don't just come from thin air, right?
I think I watch RomComs to reiterate to myself that that stuff doesn't happen in real life.
No one is going to stop me from getting on a plane.
No one is going to come to my place at 3am and tell me that they love me.
I'm not going to go to Rome, run into a lost friend and find love.
That just doesn't happen in real life. It's scripted. It's TOO perfect.
And yet, I open my laptop, wash my hands, put on my mask, open my chest up and start to work on it again.
The stitches never stay.
The sutures are always ripped.
The gauze is red but I convince myself it isn't blood, but rather love.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
We watch consumed,
by how he swooned
and soothed, the world around them,
making everything happen.
A knight in shining armour,
the first one to see her.
Even in a slow burn
we know he will return.
So I sink into my seat,
waiting for it all to repeat.
But then it's over.
When they only just got together.
I wanted to see more.
The lifetime they swore,
with every mundane moment
and hint of enjoyment.
I don't want to realise
that it was all just romanticised,
and in actuality,
they were never meant to be.
The meet cute,
a perfectly scripted route.
The first date
that changed his heart rate,
in a destined fate,
that finally lifted the weight
off his shoulders,
now that he can hold hers.
All spontaneity,
a Hollywood reality.
Carefully constructed,
harmoniously corrupted.
In the business
of making a buck off the Mrs.
Forever exploiting,
the love that they're taunting.
The hopeless romantic
made cinematic,
Love turned perfect,
for the sake of a profit.
Breakups and heart ache,
every little mistake
changing their minds,
unsure if they'll find
the one.
But the film has begun,
and we can see, just how clearly
that they are meant to be.
From the first kiss
that was pure bliss.
And coffee shop barista,
who finally slipped a
note on his cup,
to use that stupid pick up
he's been rehearsing,
when he thinks nobody is watching.
The time he turned a blind
when she wrote a note for him to find,
left on the work-top,
and reading it made time stop.
When she searched through the crowd,
but it was all too loud,
and he was nowhere to be found,
until his arms wrapped around,
her waist from behind,
and all the stars aligned.
We watch consumed,
by how he swooned
and soothed, the world around them,
making everything happen.
A knight in shining armour,
the first one to see her.
So now, somehow without ever having it I miss,
everything the romcoms promise.
Mar 27, 2025
Mar 27, 2025 at 8:54 AM UTC
true love isn't verbal communication and even though years and years of watching romcoms has taught me that, i've realised that love is quite the opposite of those hefty i love you's thrown at the end of phone calls and during early morning routines
love is passion. love is fire, pain, angst, and everything in-between. love is the way he looks at you in the middle of his meal and doesn't know how to react when you ask what. love is the way he kisses you harder than you've ever been kissed before in the middle of the dining hall because of the naive belief that maybe that kiss could replace the pain you felt at the time, love is grabbing skin and pulling lips and tightening grips designed to replace words so that maybe you can avoid saying love for a bit longer
love is finding myself in empty streets because i think i saw his reflection, running around in circles in my brain reaching the same **** conclusion that there is no escape route because your mind no longer wants to find one, telling myself that i'm beautiful and throwing in a i wish he could see me and feel proud of an award
but love is also learning to let go. love is telling yourself that perhaps it's better to let them go because somebody told me holding on the rope causes more pain than good and i've finally realised that after all maybe blood in the name of a beating heart isn't okay if spilt for nothing in twisted knots. love is being able to look each other in the eye and tell yourselves that history is history and that you need to move on because it's going nowhere and everywhere and neither of you are prepared for that right now. love is having the spark forever but choosing when to burn it, looking at them months later and seeing it again, deciding years later it's good it ended. love is finding them again in all corners of the world; finding all of them.
but most of all, love is accepting that love will come again.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 10:13 PM UTC
She was everything he was not
He was everything she wanted
She was a nervous wreck
he was too, but in denial
She wanted to save him
from not wanting to be saved
He wanted to protect her
from whatever might come
they were young
and yes,
they were stupid too
just like everybody else
She went away
He stayed a hometown boy
who wasn't at home
She could sing
He could listen
she was a wild child
looking for a port to settle
he was a nice guy
looking for something
not so nice
children of divorce
kindled a feeling of
let's make this work no matter what
and maybe it won't
they don't seem to care
too many romcoms
and too many chipped shoulders
all they wanted
was to write
their own love story
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
You are getting nosebleeds at all the wrong times
the tears welling up behind your eyes to track down your
pale, pockmarked cheek
and that bulging in your throat constricting the airflow
let’s you know that fast can be too fast
you thrive with the sunlight
but like flowers standing tall against the oncoming winter
you wilt with day’s last breath
what time did you get home this morning?
hair all matted and stood up
smelling like a sorority party massacre
glitter, wine, tequila, coke, and anonymous ****
take another adderall
******* for the bored children
feel the electrical signals pulse from your brain
to snap your pupils to attention
wash the ***** out of your hair sweet heart
the boys back home never talked to you the way these city boys do
“girl, ***** chick, **** ***** -”
“oh her? yeah she’s a sure ****
her legs are like seven eleven
they’re not always doing business, but they’re always open…”
So forget the night ever happened
each day brings new opportunities
but they all want you
they all want one thing from you
and you don’t want to say no
don’t want to make them mad,
be a tease, a ***** frigid
and you like the way they make you feel special and beautiful
until the next morning
with the nosebleeds and the dry heaving in strange toilets
and you are waiting for Prince Charming, huh?
as if he will jump out of cheesy romcoms and magazines to hold you steady
well Prince charming is dead weight slowly spinning beneath a frayed, twisted rope
in a dark closet next to the nameless stranger and the noble outlaw
so go ahead and smash those mirrors sweetheart
what’s seven years more bad luck?
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC
You make me believe in romcoms again.
You’re the one I wouldn’t run away from.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 11:10 PM UTC
we all want a movie ending
those romcoms you see on valentine’s day
that kind of ending
after all, i am a film student
but film has taught me more than the hollywood romance
it has taught me the crushing realities of life
the noir, lesser known tragedies and
the indie, underappreciated art of living
so the days that i wander and think about how we might reunite on a new york city street, coffee in tow and heels on, catching up and suddenly eloping in a whirlwind romance,
i curse hollywood for tainting my imagination
for cursing me with unnecessary pain through setups and disappointments
but then again, film has taught me that i will get my movie ending,
except i am not, and will not be the audience
i am the director, the screenwriter and the editor.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC