If I were to write
A cliché love poem about you,
I would start
With similes not so new.
I would begin
With all your lovely traits,
And more specifically:
The wonders of your face.
Your eyes shine like the stars in the sky:
Those ones I can see when pollution levels aren’t too high.
Your lips are like the fairest rose
That’s watered by a bright green hose.
Your hair seems like it’s spun of gold
And never likens to the mold (on my bathroom wall).
Your voice is like the magical bells
It puts me underneath your spells.
Your smile makes you look like an angel,
Especially when you eat a bagel.
Your breath smells like a box of mints,
As does your toothpaste – that’s probably not a coincidence.
Your attitude is always good,
You use deodorant, like you should.
Your presence is like a country breeze,
Ignore my hay fever, ‘cause sometimes I sneeze.
Well this is getting awkward
Cause this poem has faltered.
I keep on staring at the clock
I think I’m getting writer’s block.
How can those poets write so well?
Their brains are like an endless well
Of pretty phrases and romantic thoughts.
But when I write like I’ve been taught
My stuff sounds cheesy –
Cheesier than extra cheesy Cheetos!
My rhymes are weird.
My similes stink.
But I know a thing or two
That may outlive the classics.
You see, my dear,
I’ll write about you,
Please ignore my lack of rhyme,
Cause I know how to write the truth.
Your eyes don’t always shine like stars,
Sometimes they’re gray, when things aren’t looking up.
Sometimes they’re red, when you’ve been gaming all night.
Sometimes they shine, but that’s usually after photo shop.
Your lips don’t liken to a rose,
Usually they’re chapped and dry.
Your hair mostly reminds me of hair
Because that’s what it is.
Although your voice is mostly pleasant
Sometimes you sound like an ancient smoker,
And there’s nothing magical about that.
Your smile is fine,
But there’s that one tooth that’s not quite in line,
And leaves room for perfection.
Sometimes you smell like manure,
And I almost suffocate.
You try to keep your breath under control
But occasionally it brings me near death.
I’ve seen you mad,
I’ve seen you angry,
I’ve heard you complain,
I’ve heard you cry.
But all of that is fine with me
Because those are the things that make you you!
You don’t have to be perfect.
You don’t need to be Hercules,
Or Michael Jordan,
Or Ryan Gosling.
You just have to be Justin Bieber.
I’m kidding. Please don’t.
You just have to be yourself.
I don’t expect perfection.
I don’t expect an angel.
I expect you.
With your flaws.
And guess what?
I still like your eyes,
Your mouth,
Your hair,
Your voice,
And that one crooked tooth.
Your sweaty B.O. is a reminder of your hard work,
And your bad breath teaches me to share
My beloved Doublemint.
You’re cute when you’re angry,
You’re adorable when you’re mad.
I can look past the imperfections,
For what is love without forgiveness?
What is love without room for growth?
Love is learning,
Love is a journey,
And love is the ability to look past and even cherish the blemishes.
Don’t ever change.
You’re perfect to me.