Forlorn Love Poems by Artists Who Didn’t Deserve Those Girls in the First Place

#1: The Writer

Beautiful like the smile of a child
With a deadly disease.
Beautiful like a lone flower growing
In an Antarctic wasteland.
Beautiful like the pictures I have
Of beautiful women covered in my milky, white

Your spindly dancer’s legs
Like a fourth of a daddy-long-legs
Your satiated plasticine breasts
Like two huge ticks feeding on your ribs.
Your long, spindly arms
Like another fourth of a daddy-long-legs
All things that used to inhabit your panties
That I’m holding right now, slightly stained.
You left them here after you left
My only remembrance of you.
Through synecdoche, I could be talking to you
A part referring to the whole.
But instead I speak through apostrophe
Because you fucking left me.

I put your panties on my head like a hat
And act like Moses, stroking his staff
Trying to provoke another mass uprising.

#2: The Painter

She sat there, posing proud
Stretching like a cat, purring
With her long, thin legs and supple breasts
A sexy cat-woman

“Stay just like that, and I will paint a portrait of you,”
I said.
“But I’ve been sitting here for two hours already,”
She said, impatient to view my genius.
“I’ve almost got it, you sexy cat-woman.”
“Why can’t you just take a picture? And what did you call me?”
“You cannot take a picture of true art!”

She arose, that haunting tigress
To glimpse my masterpiece,
But clearly my concepts were too complex for her to grasp.
“Is that all you’ve been painting this whole time?!
Is that all you think I am – a giant VAGINA?!?!”
“IT’S A FLOWER!” I shouted
As she screamed and slammed the door.

#3: The Sculptor

They say that to sculpt an elephant
You just take a block of stone
And carve away all the bits that don’t look like an elephant.
I said I would make a sculpture of you
So I took a block of stone and started sculpting away
All the bits that didn’t look like you.
The next morning, the block was reduced to bits of rubble
With a note on top saying that I wouldn’t be seeing you again.

#4: The Mime


#5: The Origamist

I folded a crane for you.
I folded a crane for you.
I folded a crane for you.
I folded a rose for you.
I folded a crane for you
I folded a crane for you.
I folded a dragon with three toes for you.
Three toes!
I folded a crane for you.
I folded a paper airplane for you.
I folded an alligator with individual scales for you.
Okay, that one got kinda crumpled.
But I folded like hundreds of cranes for you.

“Remind me why I’m going out with you,” you said.
“Because you’re supportive of my art?” I said.

“Because you find my hobby amusing?” I said.

“Threat of paper cuts?”

The next morning, you left, taking all the stuff I folded you
Leaving just a pair of scissors on the bed.