You’re on a date, you try to please --
You give his hand a little squeeze;
You flash a smile, but all he sees
You do your best to ring her bells;
Your aim’s as good as William Tell’s --
You wear cologne, but all she smells
You speak your peace; she hears a whine.
Your compliments sound like a line.
You make a date; he never calls.
You hit the gas; your engine stalls.
You wade into the dating pool;
You think you’re so mature and cool,
But you’re all wet; you’re just the fool
You’re like a flower in a drought:
Each drip you see’s a waterspout.
What you call thirst is all about
You’re writing love, he’s reading need;
You buy a rose, she sees a weed;
You offer gifts, he sees the strings --
And that’s when the fat lady sings.
It’s not about the perfect fit,
It doesn’t matter who you hit –-
It’s like Romantic “Tag –- you’re it!”
It leaves you hungry when you feed,
It jacks you up like uncut speed,
It blossoms like a cancer weed --
You’re like a vampire in a dive:
You’ll pick up skells just to survive.
They don't need souls to help you thrive --
They only have to be alive.
When everyone looks ripe to wed
And total strangers strike you dead,
Roll over and go back to bed:
When friends you knew ten years ago
Look hot as Marilyn Monroe
Or kissable as mistletoe --
You look around and all you see
Are those with the capacity
To look at you romantically,
And so you chase them frantically.
So when the world is chock full of
Potential happiness and love,
Odds are you’re in the iron glove
And what you do’s why you’re undone --
The ones you try to hug will run,
‘Cause all they see’s the loaded gun
Take up guitar and sing the blues;
Put on your specs and read the clues --
Nobody normal’s gonna choose
To dream of you until you lose
-- Matthew Wells, revised 7/25/07