Young Writers Society

I wish I could be the kind of poet
who found it easy to write two simple words,
that could capture your struggle.
Like... "love sucks"
Or... "fuck you"
but I can't quite work it out.
I mean, I've even tried "fuck love"
and "suck you"
however, the last one kind of hinted at
subtle suggestions that just didn't seem
...appropriate...

See my problem has to be you.
Like don't get me wrong,
I enjoy having you apart of me.
Without your weird, squishy,
synchronized, built-to-a-standard-tempo
heartbeat, I'd be dead.
So i still appreciate you, yes
but...you suck.
HA! There I found it.
"You suck"
now doesn't that work quite nicely.

Anyways, like I said, I appreciate you
I really do. 
But couldn't you be just a little less finicky.
Seriously bitch, pull yourself together
you're starting to make us look like a snarky,
teenage drama queen-
and we worked so hard at bypassing
that goddamn social stereotype.
I mean if you can't learn to calm this shit down
I'll have to call in reinforcements
and we all know that when father brain gets 
involved, no one goes to bed happy.

Listen, Heart, I get it. You're lonely.
And for some reason you hate yourself so much
you just can't seem to get enough of those
sappy romantic TV shows
that we all know were written for
middle aged white woman.
But this tyranny has got. to. stop.
I'm putting my foot down, wait...
Crap! OUR foot down.
The left one incase you were wondering
and I'm putting an end to your circus.
As of right now,
you're no longer aloud to think of anything.
Nothing, nadda, zip.
You've been impeached from this office
go on and take a fucking vacation.
Thank you and goodbye.
.
.
.
.

Um... Heart, did you...
I mean you saw him too right?
Like it wasn't just the eyes...
No? Okay.
So... wanna continue Vampire Diaries?
Yeah? Alright.
Me too...