The Opposite

Sometimes I miss getting caught up
in your mess…
It’s a test,
yet it redirects my mind from misery and distress.
Not to say it doesn’t add to it,
sure, you’re the devil’s advocate…
But the demon inside me is on the search
for companionship.
It’s like a championship,
you work your way to the top, and can’t handle it,
the puzzle pieces connect,
and then you go and dismantle it.
These situations self-destruct,
faster than you can say abrupt,
But in this cycle we’re stuck,
seems like getting hurt is not enough.
This must make us all masochists.
See, if pleasure equals pain,
no wonder why good guys get overlooked
by girls who enjoy getting
their asses kicked.
It must be my passiveness,
or better yet my lack of risk,
or maybe I’m not aesthetically suited
for your satisfaction, miss.
I kick back and laugh at it…
Too much pride and looking pretty.
You look good, but behind
the makeup and smile
you indulge in self-pity.
It’s shitty,
that these games we play are silly.
Now it seems like half the female
population fronts like Milli Vanilli.
When’s the last time ya heard that
the feeling was mutual?
That phrase “let’s be friends” is beginning
to sound a little too musical.
Are men amusing fools?
Or circus acts for your laughter?
Is it entertainment you’re after?
Always questions, but never a conscious answer.
Your interpretation flipped backwards,
twisting words… it’s frustrating.
Spending months debating,
how ’bout instead we engage
in the act of making babies?
I’m just playing…
but this toying around is aggravating.
I’d rather spend time at home
watching Debbie does Dallas,
while masturbating.

I’ve got the answer to all our questions…
it’s right between the legs.
Women are from Venus, men have a penis,
I mean it’s
quite obvious I guess.
Then again,
this must be a chase for Amy and a
search for perfection.
It seems most women are lesbians,
as men walk in straight lines
like pedestrians.
This feels like an equestrian,
I’m on a horse, traveling in circles…
watching the same infomercial,
but options are limited at my dispersal.
Seek self-improvement for 19.95?
Ways to increase my chances at spreading
thighs, by spreading lies?
Truthfully, it’s a waste of time
while I rely on my own wit.
Just act myself, do my thing,
and hope I have a chance at being noticed.
It’s a situational concept,
here’s your problem, now solve it…
either take whats given,
don’t give-in, or wait
another year for a prospect.
No wonder why so many marriages
end up in divorces,
people aren’t picky enough,
happy they’re getting
some and ending up with 3 or 4 kids.
It’s morbid
and horrific the things we put
ourselves through…
search for true love,
whatever that means,
and wind up w/ no clues.
It sounds like I’m reciting the blues,
but I’ve got nothing to lose.
Desperation leads to separation,
and respiration is my fuse.
I’m a self-sufficient form of energy,
women..
let’s be friends, not enemies.
It gets to me…
how we can’t coincide happily and merrily.
Maybe I’m just fishing
in a polluted sea of flesh,
intellect-less, self-obsessed,
individuals, caught in a plastic mess.
It’s time I reposition my net,
and redirect my ship’s coordinates,
until I posses the route to success
of the opposite sex.

Written by hypoetical (circa 2002)



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