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delirium happy

Just keep on trying till you run out of cake

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St. Valentine's Day
delirium happy
I have a terrible confession to make.

See, I'm not normally the sort to care about St. Valentine's day. If other people enjoy it, then good for them, but it's not my thing. I don't observe it when I'm in a relationship, and I don't bemoan it when I'm single. It's just one of those things that's just sort of there.

This year, though, I've been angsting quite badly over the whole thing. For probably about a fortnight, I've been glancing at the calendar, watching the fourteenth draw closer and closer, hoping against hope that my situation would improve. Naturally, though, it hasn't.

Not, of course, that this has anything to do with relationships. I mean sure, I'm single, have been single for a long while, and have no particular prospects of becoming anything but single in the near future, but I'm perfectly happy with that. It gives me free rein to be flirty with people, and besides, I'm not really sufficiently mentally healthy to be able to offer any level of commitment to anyone other than myself at the moment.

No, my angst has been over something much more pointless. Long time readers will recall that for the past three years I've marked St. Valentine's day by the writing of truly awful poetry. And I was planning to do so again this year, but my muse has deserted me; my inspiration run dry. I've been almost entirely unable to come up with even the direst of dire poetry. I did come up with one, but I'm not really happy with it since it's altogether more cynical than I'm actually feeling at the moment:

Violets are blue
Roses are red
I'm just saying I love you
To get you in bed.

And that was it. Beyond that, nothing, no matter how hard I've thought on it. And so, dear readers, I turn to you. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write me some truly awful Valentines poetry, in the spirit of my ditties of the past three years. Have at it.

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Roses are rosy
Violets are violet
This silly poem
Belongs in the ti-o-let.

not bad, honesty in dating, think it'll catch on? ^_-

I really need to go to bed. But first, the worst your-mom joke I've made yet:

Roses are red
Your mom is blue
I stuffed her with lead
I hope you don't sue

Love and kisses. :)

Roses are big
Your penis is tiny
You failed to get me
Anything shiny

(DISCLAIMER: The above quatrain was written solely for the sake of badness, and does not reflect upon any person in real life, including the writer's husband, who is handsomely endowed and made with the chocolates, the roses, and the CD of love songs.)

Wow, G, I didn't think you had poetry that bad in you! :) Huzzah for you!

Hey, I like a challenge. As far as I know, I'm still the only person in the history of the Anonymous Bosch Poetry Award at George Mason to take a Dishonorable Mention (which I did with a parody of Gerard Manley Hopkins's "Spring and Fall: To a Young Child"). I was fined five dollars -- although I don't think they ever collected.

Ouch. You do succeed when you set out to impress, don't you?

I misses you so much!

Pah. You've already seen me naked. I think.

I suck at writing poetry. Seriously. But hey, I did make that little banner thingy for you!

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I read this at work and your poem really made me l.o.l. I'm now getting strange looks from the couple of other sad bastards that are still at work. *giggle*

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