Miserable Monday.

One of the first poems I wrote. 

 

How I wished, the German class would just end soon,

I’m sleepy, it’s already 4:30 in the afternoon.

Boredom reached its limits; I knew I could have died,

A few minutes more, I swear I would have cried.

 

And then I finally heard the magical words from his mouth,

“German class is over, now you can go out”

Pumped with energy, filled with desire,

I ran out of class like my ass was on fire.

 

And as I reached outside, my feet automatically stopped,

I could swear my eyes from their sockets, almost popped.

I saw her right there, skin as white as milk,

The hair flowing down, like fine threads of silk.

 

A thing of beauty, she glided through the street,

I adjusted my path, to make sure we would meet.

I looked up then, into those beautiful eyes,

With the glow and warmth of a firefly’s.

 

And slowly but surely her head turned around,

For the second time, my feet were stuck to the ground.

“Excuse me?” she said.”Where’s the academic block?”

“Just continue straight” (Wow! She actually talked?!)

 

“Thank you so much” she said, with a smile so quaint,

I smiled back stupidly, trying not to faint,

“Haha, you’re so cute”, she cheerily obliged,

And I turned as red as a baboon’s backside.

 

And then fate stepped in, and took a turn for the worse,

A cruel game of life, my luck turned to curse.

He came up smoothly, gave her a kiss on the cheek,

And then I discovered, I had no words to speak.

 

It was like I swallowed, a jar full of salt,

What the hell did I do? Was it my fault?

The spot where he kissed her, turned a rosy red,

“Madam, do you even remember anything I said?!”

 

It was like straight from Titanic, just different you see,

She was Kate Winslet, Leornado was me,

And just as I tried to climb the floating door,

She stamped on my face, I reached the ocean floor.

 

“What are you thinking?” the guy suddenly said,

“How to bang an iron rod, right on your head.”

“Bye” she said demurely, smiling with grace,

I was stranded in cold, the blood left my face.

 

She was 23, and that was the scene,

And I was a demented nutcase, only 17.

It wouldn’t have worked, I sadly grinned,

To her anyway, I was a fart in the wind.

 

I bowed my head, gracious in defeat,

Well at least I still am, single and complete.

 

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About thedevastateddreamer

The world is on its knees. How far can you crawl? View all posts by thedevastateddreamer

2 responses to “Miserable Monday.

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