I didn’t know where to start, so I tried writing this poem like an essay- organized, structured, well thought out.
I planned the outline- hook, thesis, two main body paragraphs, topic sentences, supporting evidence, analysis, restatement of the thesis, and then I said fuck that... what am I even writing?
This is an essay, yet I expected it to become a poem.
You said I love you forever and then expected me to get over it.
This poem isn’t supposed to be organized or structured or even well thought out.
If I’m going to write a poem about love, it’s not going to be any of those things because love isn’t any of those things.
If I’m going to write a poem about you, you don’t deserve any of those things.
Before you, organized itself was jealous of how put together I was.
Structured herself marveled at how impeccable my posture was.
Well Thought Out himself envied the purpose in my life.
Before you, I was an erasable pen, or a stapler and a stapler remover, but now I’m a sharpie, unforgiving. Before you I was an essay, and now I’m a poem. So thank you. I hate you. They mean the same thing anyway.