He Said, “I Know You’re a Poet, Can’t You Just Write About It?”
roses are red,
violets are blue,
this makes the 64th poem
i have written about you.
my thighs were pink
but my chest felt fine;
is the first poem i’ve written
about you that rhymes?
now my heart feels blue
and my mind feels numb;
was the fever between us
really just dumb?
my neck is purple
and my head feels black;
when you touched me like that
did it leave you crawling back?
our drinks were golden
and our minds were bright;
you can’t tell me that part of this
didn’t feel right.
now you’re sitting across from me
and your skin looks red.
i can see it in your eyes,
we’re better off
just in our heads.
2 thoughts on "He Said, “I Know You’re a Poet, Can’t You Just Write About It?”"
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The title begged me to continue. I just want to let you know-I did not mind the rhyme-in fact I have started a few poems the same way-roses are red-I feel I was not as successful in saying what I was trying to say-as you didn’t say but said. Thanks-so many things are better off left in our heads.
yes! this poem was basically my response to someone telling me “i know you’re a poet, can’t you just write about it?” and using the “roses are red…” format and rhythm because that’s the stereotypical way to write a poem. thank you!