Love is a lot like Hate

by iQuippie

Published December 30, 2007

You're so selfish,
silly, stupid;
no one knows that we're still friends.
I recall when I first met you-
I'll regret it to the end.

When you took me,
stole everything
that I had to give, and more,
I knew we'd be friends forever;
forbidden love behind closed doors.

You can hurt me,
bend me, break me.
In the end, we know you'll win.
All because you're just so pretty
when you open up my skin.

Comments & reviews · 3
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Jasmine Hart
Review
Jasmine Hart wrote a review Review · Dec 31, 2007

I really liked this. The tone was perfect and it flowed well. I think that the rhythm is off in places. I hope you'll excuse my experimentation here, it will help me get my thoughts straight...what I'd do is;

"When you took me,
stole everything
I had to give, and more."

Then I'd omit "all" from the second last line.

I think that the last two lines were the most fresh and powerful.

I can nit pick, and point out the cliches, such as "to the end", "everything that I had to give", "forbidden love behind closed doors" and "bend me, break me." For the sake of experimentation, I'd try the poem again without these, to see what happens, but ultimately I'm not altogether sure that they take from the poem as a whole.


Hope this helps!
Jas

User avatar
iQuippie
Comment
iQuippie commented Comment · Dec 30, 2007

That... wasn't what that was supposed to mean... but I'll take it. >_<

User avatar
TonyTokyo Review
TonyTokyo wrote a review Review · Dec 30, 2007

You know what I really loved about this? The fact that you used 'we' instead of 'you' know you'll win. And how he's pretty when he's opening your skin is absolutely perfect, because I can see that a lot in some guys, that are even beautiful in a twisted way when they're hurting someone.

Or that could be just me.

Edit: Scratch that. I don't mean that they are really beautiful, but they can still acheive the illusion of it even if they're horrible inside.



For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which pursued its noise way beneath. The same lulling sounds acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed the giver of oblivion.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein