The Joys of Being Unrequited

I have been reading poetry. I insist ferociously that I hate poetry (except for what some of my friends write, even though theirs is usually the worst.) and so I feel like I'm betraying myself. I have also been WRITING poetry, and that makes me feel like throwing up.


The Joys of Being Unrequited
a poem by Vienna

The thing about a clingy case of unrequited love,
is that it's aching, long and lonely, but also sweet because,
it slides along without a sound, free of clashes and of change,
the turning, burning ups and downs, the awkwardness and shame.

Real love tends to sweep you up, just to let you down,
haggard places leave you lying, dying on the ground.
But when your love is pure and true and also quite one-sided,
you'll learn to love the coves and slopes of lonliness like I did.

You see their face and think how great together you could be,
scenes of romance in your mind, of joy and harmony.
Throughout the day you do recall the laughter and their smile,
every nuance of their voice, loving all the while.

A relationship cannot compare it's sweeping, senseless rush,
to the wistful, tender slow burn of a hopeless crush.
Even though you pine and moan and wait for their phone call,
isn't it better to love so sad than to never love at all?