by Robert Spalding

Created on: January 13, 2009

When it comes to poetry I have no ability. I have no sense of rhythm or rhyme and I most certainly lack the ability to say anything in a few words. If I was bitter or angry over this lack of poetic sensibility I would be the ultimate critic but since I would rather say in many, many words what others prefer to say in concise, rhyming rhythms I am content to simply enjoy and respect poetry for what it is: songs without music attached. If only my ex girlfriend had this same respect for poetry instead of the need to butcher it at every chance.

As is the case with most truly horrid poets she honestly believed her poems were wonderful and would read them to me at every chance. "This one is from my dark period." She proudly announced as she read a bitter, rambling rant about how much she hated her goth "ex girlfriend" because as with all dark brooding poets who went through dark periods she had also gone through her bisexual period. As far as I could gather her bisexual period consisted of a week of calling the victim of the borderline poetic rant her girlfriend and holding her hand once.

I winced when, as she ended the "poem," she happily asked me what I thought. I knew, of course, that this question was girlfriend speak for "tell me how wonderful you thought it was." I reached back into the creative portion of my brain, not being much of a liar, and said "well you were certainly angry when you wrote that one."

She smiled wide. She thought I understood, I did, it certainly wasn't hard. She believed her words had moved me. Perhaps they had but no more than extra spicy wings would have but I was twenty two and it was not my brain that was acting as poetry critic. "Her fake darkness brought out this darkness in you." I continued, boy was I on a roll, if she bought this one then she was dumber than the poem.

"Yes, yes, oh my God yes." She hugged me and clung to me. "My last boyfriend didn't understand at all."

I can't imagine what he failed to understand. I mean it was a pretty clear cut crappy poem when someone rhymes "bitter" with "hit her" there's not much guessing involved. My guess is that he was a worse liar than I was or more likely he truly believed that she wanted an honest answer. Trust me no twenty year old poet wants an honest critique from their significant other, he should have known that. Then again maybe he did, maybe he was smarter than me and knew when to get out.

"So you really think it was good?" She asked, her eyes pleading with me to be the first person to actually be able to pull off the lie that I think even she knew in her head I would have to tell her.

"Well," I started, "it shows a side of you I don't really like so I'm not sure I can really say I do" I could see her heart was breaking "but that doesn't make it a bad poem. I just prefer to think of you as a happier person is all."

Big smile. YES! Gold mine. I managed to skate my way around saying "God that poem sucked."

"Okay," she said "then let me read you a happy one."

Learn more about this author, Robert Spalding.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.