Maybe I Should Only Date Other Poets

I’m fucking tired of

Carrying the conversation

In my relationships

I’m sick of being

The superior communicator

I write lavish love letters

Grind my quill pens to dust

And get short replies

No eloquent expression

Or passionate romance

In return

I know I’m a writer

Skilled with the whiplash of words

But I want someone to bite back

Give me some sugar and spice

Toss them together and me around

At the risk of sounding

Like a narcissist

I’m tired of being

More emotionally intelligent!

Putting in all the work

To lay down loaded words

Tend to tender childhood wounds

So I can be intentionally intimate

Maybe I should just

Date other poets??

God knows we’re really great

With our mouths!

I have only two abilities

I’m completely confident about:

My writing skills

And the wicked good head I give

Maybe other poets

Would actually reciprocate 

If you get what I’m saying?

Of course you do…

You also spend 5 hours

Writing a poem about

The first date you just had

And stand up in front of strangers

To describe in detail just how much

You want to fuck them

And then you go home

And fantasize about them some more

C’mon, poet…

Paint a picture of me

With your tongue

Layer colors like liminal lasagna

Tell me in each stripe of the rainbow

What I mean to you

Run your fingers down

My vocal cords

Stretch my spine out until I’m sore

I’m horny for touch

And equal exchange of love

And so much more

Maybe I should only date other poets