Intruder AlertA Poem by Audri Carlevaro
If they'd told me I'd fall for you
I'd have offered them the number To the local psych ward - After a sufficient Google search To ensure they received The proper care they'd need. If they'd said to me, "One day you'll look up, And realize he's the one." I'd have raised an eyebrow, Pulled a thermometer from Some poor unfortunate souls a*s And checked them for a fever. If they'd look from me to you And smirked like they knew something That I didn't, I'd have grabbed the largest sharpie I could find in the vicinity, And draw a penis Directly in the center of their forehead While they were sleeping. If they'd told me, "I know you don't believe in it, But you'll come to love him." I'd have - Well. To be completely honest, I'd have probably laughed in their faces, And said something none too pleasant. Probably would have received glares From nearby parents. If they'd warned me, I wouldn't have listened. Would have denied it All the way to the local horse races, Where I would have bid on the underdog, That had never won a race - Just to prove to myself, That things that can't happen, Won't happen. But knowing my luck, If I'd done that, That damn horse would've won. Sadly, if they'd said anything, Things would end up exactly as they did. Only the Google search Isn't for them. It'd be for me. I'm still convinced this whole thing, Where I'm feeling something Specifically a thing for you, Is a symptom of mental disorder. And I'm the one with the fever. But if I go to the doctor, It'd just be a freaking case Of loving you. And that bill would just be Another heaping disappointment On this cake of misguided love. I'd still draw a penis on someone's face. But I don't have a key to your place. You'd better be happy buster, Because I draw a great dick. And you'd never get rid of it. If they'd told me that I'd love you, I wouldn't have listened, But at least I wouldn't have been Blindsided when it happened. © 2016 Audri Carlevaro |
AuthorAudri Carlevarohouston, TXAboutI'm a 21 year old. When I'm not writing poetry, I'm writing about my other love; serial killers. more..Writing
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