When I met you, I saw you as the yin to my yang
Me being the brooding little musician poet that I am and you were the bright little ray of sunshine that lightened up my days
Every moment I saw you becoming more focused and intense until you set me on fire
Like a Great White concert you engulfed me in a flame that caused me to burn circles into my carpet screaming in pain until I bolted through the doorway leaping into traffic until one happens to nail me and my head becomes severed by the windshield and lands in the passenger's lap when a rainbow sprouts from my neck and a leprechaun jumps out of my ass which makes as much as sense as why I fell for you in the first place
You pretentious, flaky, hippie bitch
But there were those moments when you uplifted my spirits to heights I've never seen
Helping me fly you were the wind beneath my wings
Soaring to elevations that I never thought possible till I left the atmosphere and suffocated from the lack of oxygen, plummeting back to the earth like comet when I landed on your cloud of illusions receiving a handful of hand jobs and bottle of booze where I gained the enlightenment of the men that you used, which you so fondly refer to as "history", but the last time I opened a history book I didn't see a listing of everyone that Abraham Lincoln fucked
Since we're on the subject of history lets get down to some facts
Hilary Hanson is an eighteen year-old poet from Rockport, Maine. Her favorite things to do are looking at the stars, shopping and making cookies and cupcakes. Her loves include rocky beaches and poetry by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
She of course shares some similarities in hobbies and even name to one of our own Austin poets, who is a magnificent woman and has absolutely nothing to do with this poem
The point that I'm making here is that love is a hydra with a barb wire laced vagina and nine heads that grows two more for everyone that you cut off so if you're fucking and fighting every head that you're facing your going to find yourself devoured by the mob that's replacing the last worthless battle that you just spent on a serpents kiss when you should really just go home and jerk off
Speaking of jerk offs
Dwayne Williamsburg is a forty three year old investment banker in Blue Peak, Washington. His favorite things include taking long walks on the beach, listening to Kenny G, cliches, and sacrificing small animals to our lord Satan
He of course shares a love of some hobbies and a similar name to myself, Dwayne Williamson, who is speaking completely in third person on the topic of this piece, which is definitely not referring to any one woman that may or may not be present in this room
But love is a sensitive subject that should never be swept under a rug by a broom, you approach it head on without leaving out any of the truth, but some people are just ashamed of how they met, telling everyone that they ran into each other in a coffee shop instead of over the Internet, which seems really odd to me, but how would I know I’ve never done anything of the sort, but sometimes there are statements that deserve a retort, so you shouldn’t be surprised when unmentionable words come back around to bite you in the ass, so everyone raise your glass and toast the past because little white lies are never going to last , and one day someone is going point out the cracks in your mask, but it won’t be me…….because I don’t know anyone I could write something like that for, but its kind of fun to write poems pretending like you do, right sweet pea?