NP, TTYL? Romantic ImproVerse Haiku

When you write your soul,/
“idk” or “k” isn’t/
much of an answer.

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Waiting For The Face Plant: Romantic Blogging Free Verse Poem

You know that moment
when you trip
and begin to fall
and know you’re going
to crash and burn,
but haven’t hit yet?

The moment between
“Oh, crap!”
and “OUCH!”?

Asking someone out
on a date
via email
or instant message
or text,
and then hearing
only silence
is like that:

The moment
just before
the face plant.

Stupid Predictive Text: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku Rant

Siri: It’s “Poem”! Not/
“Home”, “Pole man”, or “pome”. (What is/
that anyway?) “POEM”!!!

Just Shoot Me: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku

“Why don’t you just shoot/
me?” is made much better by/
adding this: “a text”.

I Wish They’d Write/Call/Email/Text: Romantic ImproVerse Haiku

How much time’s wasted/
waiting in vain for absent/
Communication.

Electronic Apology Fail: Romantic ImproVerse Haiku

Apologizing /
through messages, emails or/
texts seems insincere.

Crushin’ On Your Deep Genius: Romantic IMprov Haiku

If I text you that/
I have a crush on your deep [OR hot]/
genius, does that work?

Expectations Cause Damoclesian Worry: Romantic ConTEXTing Sonnet

Expectations of emails, phone calls and texts
hang over our heads, heavy;
They worry and vex
like the sword of Damocles.

But these things should never be.
there should be no guilt nor frustration.
It’s all created from false worry,
and from unreasonable demands for validation.

So we must remove ourselves from that throne
and let be cut that single horsehair.
For even though we’re not alone,
no one needs to be seated there.

And those who such verbal oblations and veneration demanded
should be chastised, corrected and repremanded.

When You Know Better But Don’t Care: Romantic Improv Poetry Lament

I’ve waited.
Like watching a train wreck,
my stomach churns with pained antici …
…
…
pation
for words which
never
come.

We’ve discussed
how my life
hangs on tender talk:
emails, texts, phone calls, face-to-faces
like dandelion seeds
floating on the breeze
completing the synapse
from your brain
to mine
and back.

Like a drug;
like food to the starving;
like water to the desert wanderer.
Your words feed me.
Your silence slays me
slowly.

I’ve poured my heart
into you.
I’ve opened my soul
for you,
to caress
or rip apart.
You know
my thoughts.
My desires.
My expectations.

Though they may not be fair,
those desires
and needs
still are part of me,
what drives me,
what moves me,
what helps me
feel secure
and safe.

Maybe I should be stronger.
Maybe I should trust more.
Maybe I should not care.
Maybe I should be independent.
Maybe I should release myself
from the bondage
of your silence.

Maybe someday I will.
Or maybe someday
you’ll care enough
to contact me
so the sound of silence
doesn’t explode my brain,
rip apart my soul,
tear apart my heart,
starve me
into oblivion,
into my noone-will-hurt-me
shell,
because
you know.

Do I Ask Too Much? : Romantic Email Poetic Lament

Guys ask you/
to color your hair;
/dress differently;
/change your style; /
trim your hair; /
act other than you are;/
change your body;/
alter your speech patterns;/
shave and tidy up;/
pose;/
do things that change
your personality/
and alter
who you are./

So, to show them you care./
You sacrifice yourself,/
And who you are./
What they ask
and demand of you,
You do.

I ask you to call,
write,
text;/
To let me hear
from you.

You don’t.