Literally. Today I post a poem I wrote as a sophomore in college.
I was always “one of the guys.” Periodically I got sick of “the guys” confiding in me, taking me out on non-dates when actual “girls” had ditched them. Sometimes I developed feelings for these “guys” and then I got dramatic and went through stages of moping.
Stage1: Write a poem.
Stage2: Write a song (actually a line, sometimes only a couple of mournful words, strung together by a chord).
Stage3. Paint an abstract depiction of my feelings.
Stage4. (this stage equals total heartbreak and only happened once) Burn abstract painting in kitchen sink, asphyxiating roomates and leaving black marks on the cabinets.
So the DYM has a whiney, self-pitying, destructive side? Umm…ye-ah!
The touch of a Fool
A fool in love
With a woman
Apologetic, whispering fingers
To brush my shoulder
A quivering knee creeps to meet mine
He craves the touch,
The truth of me
To remind him of