Tuesday, May 1, 2012


A colorful dedication to the fast talking, good looking men who come out every summer. Yes, they break my heart. But in the end, it is my fault and I laugh about it.

The sun has come out
So have the boys of summer.
Armed with their lines -
Their lines-
All so immense.

Like a Venus fly trap-
You clamp your jaws-
On my psyche-
My brain-
Making me lose my mind

I follow you blindly,
I don’t care that the girls run after you.
I don’t care that you have a girl in every port.
You say that I am the only one-
You promise me under the moonlight-

You tell me a lot under the moonlight.
According to you it seems,
You are a swashbuckler-
A pirate.
You don’t have a peg leg or an eye patch,
But you have tales of the deep blue sea.

You tell me that you are the next Shipwreck Kelly.
Making me want you,
So daring.
Making me want to sit on your flag pole.
My mother’s nightmare.

I don’t care-
That you are a pretty boy-
Looking in the mirror-
Piercing my soul with your cold blue eyes-
So wrong but feeling so right.

I don’t care-
That I have heard your lines before-
That you probably used them on twenty girls or more-
That I am just a name in your phone-
That the stories are all lies.

I don’t care-
That you are lying to me-
You are quite the handsome devil-
Therefore I lose my self-respect-
Actually, that left an hour ago.

The educated feminist has left the building.
The girl my mother raised, ran to the wolves.
They have eaten Red Riding Hood.
She never got to grandma’s house.
Oh no!

I tee hee like a stupid school girl-
Twirling with you-
Skipping with you-
Laughing with you-
Falling for you.


I do care that those are lines!
I do care that those are lies!
I do care you have a girl in every port!
I do care that you are wasting my time
Dragging me through the mud!!

Crying under the moonlight-
I should learn my lesson-
An educated woman-
They didn’t write a book-
No one knows their way out of a broken heart.

Hardened, I am smarter.
The educated feminist has returned.
She always returns with the cold when the flowers die.
As she burns your pictures,
And kills the Venus fly trap.

Yet when you come next summer it will all be the same-
I will skip like a moron-
I will lust after the pirate-
Want to sit on the flag pole of Shipwreck Kelly.
Yes, I am a seasonal idiot.

Waiting for the boys of summer

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