The Man Who Hated Love - Poem #15 for #30Poemsin30Days

He told me,
"Bro, I'm tired of losing in love, losing in love
So tired of losing in love
I'm a good dude, so why do I keep
losing in love, losing in love
I guess I'm not good enough"

I know this dude with a good head on his shoulders
but it seemed the women in his life, pushed him to be colder
For years, he'd heard his female friends decry the bitter man
and so he tried to avoid becoming one of them
When he was younger, if he was honest,
he was enamored with the idea of love
He dreamed of having a girlfriend from the time he was old enough
But he was never cool -
he was never popular, he focused on good grades in school
and I don't have to tell you how kids can be pretty cruel
When he was about eight, he caught feelings for the first time
The girl who was his good friend in the third grade,
grew into something different in his eyes
Gradually, his demeanor around her changed -
he complimented her, even bought her her favorite candy a couple times
Got defensive when his boys talked about her and spreaded their lies
He crushed hard, but couldn't articulate it
and before he knew it, he blew it because he heard
she was "going together" with some fifth grade bird
Eventually, they reached the fifth grade year of their own
And the other dude was gone,
replaced instead by some cat in middle school
He accepted that she liked older dudes and that was cool,
but he couldn't get her off his mind - he was a fool
So graduation rolled around and he found
that she would be moving over the summer and they'd be parting ways
He convinced himself to find the right thing to say
and so after the ceremony had ended and they'd walked off stage
He whispered in her ear, "I wish you had been my babe"
She had looked at him funny
and then she blushed, and then she looked away
She kinda laughed a little bit before she replied
that she'd thought he was a great guy but never saw him that way

And thus began his stance - that he hated losing in love
his first at bat, and he'd already struck out once
And it would only be the first of many
He'd fall for other girls and continue to be hit with the friend zone aplenty
His homeboys and his mother insisted
that as he got older, the chicks would get with it
And someone would see in him, the things that he saw in them
He just had to be patient and trust God to create it
The years piled up, and so did the letdowns
And with every succeeding crush, the harder he tried to make
something happen
It seemed he was stuck in dead last
His homeboys found relationships; before he knew it, some were married as well
And here he was, consistently single and it felt like hell

He was a good dude but he wondered if he was a doormat
The girls seemed to want "the bad guys" - was that how he should act?
Though being an asshole wasn't in his genes,
from his experiences, he gleaned
that the less you respected women, the more they wanted what you had in your jeans
And there he was, 22 and still in possession of his "V" card
Asking himself what was the point of holding on to it for?
His female friends insisted, "that's a good thing, though! I wish I had waited"
How could they wish they had waited? It wasn't like sex was something they hated
And then, he had to be ever careful of the things that he said,
That he didn't say aloud or write in facebook notes, the thoughts in his head
Because they'd be perceived as pathetic and received as a joke
and the last thing that he needed was people laughing when he was seeking out hope

At 23, he got his heart broken for the last time
Or maybe the first time, because this one he'd cared about for real
That one seemed to trip into his arms and he caught her and fell with her
and he was cautious - he tried to learn from past mistakes
but he really thought he loved her, because the feeling was hard to shake
She seemed to like him too, but as they always seemed to do
Whatever she had seen in him, ceased to exist
and next thing he knew, she was talking 'bout calling it quits

He was a good dude - this much he knew to be true
But was it possible "good" wasn't good enough to get you through
to the girls that really mattered, the ones that meant something to you?
At 23, he accepted it, that he was meant to be alone
and love, he rejected it, because he was no longer strong
He had been patient and he had trusted, he had not envied, he had been kind
and with every roll of the dice, it seemed 1 Corinthians 13 had lied
Love had fooled him for the last time - he would lock his heart away
And the games he once despised, he would start to partake
understanding that women would only care once he didn't care as much
and that harsh words and a hard heart communicated better than a soft touch
He wore Black to every wedding that he attended after that day
to symbolize that love was dead to him, in every single way
And every couple that walked past him in brought daylight,
he shot daggers of bitter glances upon them once they were within eyesight

Every girl that talked to him from then on, he kept her close
yet far away
and if he felt those feelings coming on, he'd sabotage
just so that she wouldn't stay
No longer a loser, he understood what was necessary in order for him to win,
was to never, ever allow himself to fall in love again.

4 The Writers - Poem #14 of #30Poemsin30Days

I wrote this piece for the fighters
who throw their blows by way of ink
And craft works that make people think
and just to show off, lay down entendres twice
to make their readers blink
Far from a rapper, and I don't need a beat
unless you count the one that's in my heart
that doesn't seem to know defeat
At least when it comes to the page -
 Life humbles me often, but with these words, I'm a sage
and the paper is the stage on which I display
the beautiful gift that my God gave

You see, I'm a writer,
and writers never lie
It just so happens that sometimes we hide
the truth within our lines
You read my work and sometimes you tweet it
Sometimes you say that you read it, but don't really mean it
I hope for your feedback because lowkey, I need it
but I'm a beast at this penmanship, color me conceited
When it comes to the phrases, I'll never concede it
See, poems are easy, articles require stats
but only a writer can give you the facts
in a way that the truth still resounds and doesn't distract
and once you read my work, you won't go back
I promise it

See, you're just a reader -
you just see me write pieces
you may not understand that I'm falling to pieces
but that's my intent - I'm not deceiving,
but I write what I write so I can speak peace
into my life
I don't campaign for "Likes," but I don't mind a "Share"
Say I'm writing for me, but lowkey, I want you to care
I want you to know that this is for those like me
who never met a metaphor they didn't like
or reassembled a phrase to reflect the times
or chopped and screwed up a cliche to refine
the way that it sounded - gave the words melody
gave even the conjunctions a purpose and parity

Writers know struggle, it gives us material
We specialize in making what's in our hearts visual
 I love it so much that I'd do it for free
but I consider it an honor that people would pay me
And I'm not cocky - actually, for the pen I might be
In some things I struggle, in others, I've failed
Sometimes I craft pieces to keep me out of the hell,
out of the cell, locked in my mental jail
Got this "S" on my chest, but can't say I haven't been hurt
Hate to say that my best moments, are sometimes eclipsed by my worst
But if nothing else is certain, I know this to be sure -
my salvation, indeed my legacy, will always be preserved in my words.

Beholdher - Poem #16 for #30Poemsin30Days

The mirror is not an adequate reflection of who you are

The mirror makes the worst things about you stand out
as much as it does the best
So you are self-conscious because in spite of the fact that you have
the most beautiful pair of brown eyes
two cute dimples, one on either side of your smile,
a nose that slightly curves up into the air at the end
You don't think that's enough

So you add blue eyeshadow to your eyelids
and arch your eyebrows a little higher than usual
and curl out your eyelashes so that people will notice your eyes
And you add light blush to your cheeks
and dark red lipstick so as to highlight the fullness of your lips
and further inspire fantasies of deep, soft kisses
And you cake your face up with makeup because
you think that nobody will notice your beauty otherwise
You think that you have to make the effort
to make that which already stands out about you, stand out even more

The mirror only shows you one side,
the flaws as well as the things that draw out awe
But if someone were to look closely enough
they would understand that the small mole on your cheek
distinguishes you further
and the small scar on your nose that you got
when you babysat that cat and it scratched you
is a beautiful battle scar and not a chink in your gorgeous armor

And if they really cared, they would help you understand
that some things are hidden from the mirror -
 some things like the fact that you're so well-read,
you can drop a book reference and link it with a pop culture one
in the same sentence and somehow it all makes sense
Or the fact that you have a big heart,
even if you do your best to keep it under wraps so that
nobody takes advantage of it

But the mirror only tells one side,
and that's the only side you see
And as for me?
Well, I know your mind's made up
and if I tell you, you won't believe me anyway
so I'll say simply "you look nice today"
and let you go on thinking that I didn't notice a thing