I once knew a painter, and he broke my heart,
But I saw it coming from the very start.
I once knew a poet, and I was his muse,
but after awhile, it was too much abuse.
I once knew a novelist, and everything was a plot,
But before long, our romance was forgot.
I once knew a pianist, and our love was a song,
But he found someone else, and he proved me wrong.
I once knew a sculptor, who told me I was so complex,
Unfortunately, he was not--he was just after sex!
I once knew a lyricist, and he came and he went,
And he forgot to return to me the heart that I'd lent.
I once knew a columnist, and my life was reviewed,
But he lost interest, and my subscription went unrenewed.
I once knew a director, and he called for action,
But I apparently did not bring enough satisfaction.
I once knew an actor, and God, they're the worst!
When he made his exit, my heart almost burst.
I once knew a composer, and he made me sob,
Dear God, what I'd do for a man with a real job!
Depression crashed down upon me
With the weight of a thousand
Passionate kisses from a heated lover
As I watched the way he looked at her.
He stared at her with the wonder of a
Child unwrapping the Christmas present
Which contained the toy of his dreams,
And I longed to be looked at in the same way.
I saw that look directd towards me only once,
One early morning as I awoke to find my
Ex-boyfriend staring up at me from my
Bedroom floor. He had unwrapped me with
His eyes, his hands, his lips, and finding that
The box didn't contain what he had hoped for,
He discarded me like torn Christmas wrapping.
And it's not that I want what belongs to someone
Else, I just want to belong to someone else.
Sign My Guestbook Now!!!
Some say I give my heart too freely,
Call me fickle, untrue, and flighty.
But I can't love someone if they don't love back,
So I needn't be under this constant attack.
As soon as I learn I'm not someone's type,
I find someone else, but why must you gripe.
Am I to sit alone and despair,
For I didn't have the right color hair?
No, I go out and I find a new man,
Why is that so hard to understand?
I give my heart freely, this is true,
But really, what would you have me do?
One day when it's given it won't be returned,
For I will have found the love I have earned.
I like falling hard, it makes for better poetry,
Don't you see all my talent stems from agony.
I'll give my heart to as many as I must,
Until I can find the man I can trust.
Don't hold that against me, it isn't so bad,
I'm only twenty and can still count the lovers I've had.
Yes it's true I've made some mistakes,
But I'll give my heart to as many as it takes.
For one day someone will be glad to keep it,
And all those other boys, I can forget.
But until then, let me be fickle, let me be free,
At least until I can find a boy that wants me!
I was only hoping to share my angst,
For I rarely get any kind of thanks.
To my best friend, I'm the queen of despair,
And none of my coworkers could really care.
I wandered out on that moonlit night,
Only hoping someone would share my insight.
I didn't show up looking for romance,
But I suppose wherever you go there's always that chance.
I always had an image of my ideal man,
So this is the thing I cannot understand:
Although with this ideal you share few qualities,
You've overshadowed all else and now you are he.
About you I'll write volumes, I'm sure,
Your poetry touched my soul, your words were so pure,
You are the essence of which dreams are made of,
For merely your countenance could inspire love.
So, I'll slip into bed and fall into dreams of you,
For you are amongst the worthy few.
And now for you my unrequited love will be,
For you could never love the likes of me.
But I'll finish this week, and I shall try not to mope,
For when our eyes met, I rediscovered hope.
All I could think of was your sex appeal,
But I was so confused, I didn't know what to feel.
Just when I thought we had made a start,
You tore out my lonely heart.
After I thought that I could be alive,
You took away all of my ambition and drive.
Just when I learned, once again, how to dream,
You left me here to listen to my lonely heart scream.
When I thought I had found the perfect lover,
You left me tangled, alone in the covers.
Just when I thought we could succeed,
You walked out the door and left me to bleed.
I wanted so much to be with you,
But now I'm left with nothing else to do.
So while I spend my time dreaming of "us."
You were the only person I thought I could trust.
The first time that you held me in your embrace,
I thought I'd have no more teardrops on my face.
I know you never said, "commitment."
But I was, at least, expecting some fulfillment.
I actually thought we could be together,
But you were only here for me during fair-weather.
Why'd you leave me wallowing in confusion?
And was it all just a fucking delusion?
So now you've left me all alone,
With just the memories of you moans.
There's a certain freedom in uncertainty,
An escape in not knowing, that, can't generally
Be found anywhere else in all of life.
There's a bittersweet ecstasy in dreaming.
An almost overwhelming desire to slip into
Madness and live in oblivious escapism.
Such a passion is exactly what has gotten
Me into my current predicament.
This horribly quaint little period of time
Where I've found myself dreaming about your eyes.
And not just your eyes, mind you! (Heavens!
Do you honestly Think I could stop there?
Of course not.)
So, you see, I've also found myself imagining
Your touch, as well. Not to mention,
The heat of your skin, the taste of your kiss,
The texture of your hair, the gleam of your smile,
You understand where I'm going with this, correct?
Good, I'd hate to have to keep listing, I might not be
Able to stop myself, and you know how I hate that.
Silly, silly, silly! That's me, of course.
What's worse: I don't know which is more appealing,
The thought of these things yet to come,
Or the thought that these things shall never come.
Oh, ill-fated am I to want to be poetic.
For in that is a desire to live poetically,
And let's face it, my life is not so literary anymore.
I do dream on a grand scale, but please tell me,
For how long is that to be enough to keep me from
Falling inexorably into the madness of escapism which
Threatens me so?
I love this, this eminent feeling
that the world's greatest romance
is about to unfold before me.
The excitement of dreaming
about your kiss, the sensation
of your touch, the timbre of
your voice as you speak my name,
or better yet, refer to me
by some term of endearment
that you've reserved solely
for use on me.
I love this anticipation.
This not knowing if I shall
ever be the fond receiver
of your warm embrace,
of not knowing if I'll
live up to all of your
expectations.
This is living. This
uncertainty. This is
what being alive is
all about. To hope that
maybe, finally, that the reality
of "us" will live up to
the fantasy that I have
long been nurturing.
To feel completely alive
at the sound of your name
being spoken. To tingle with
excitement when you find a
few moments to devote to me.
I'm alive. I'm alive with
hope.
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