So, bored out of my skull, and feeling mean, I hop over to cl to see if theres anything fucking hilarious worth seeing. And lo and behold, in the missed connections, I come across a poetess
who got three! compliments on her poem, entitled "I'm So Pathetic." What follows is the poem in its entirety, along with thoughtful commentary.



Complete and total adoration,

Was it really total? Or did your ex fart a lot?

My gift to you, my heart was yours,
In ten weeks you shaped it,
In one night you murdered it.

And in three days it will rise again, and lead an army of zombies to reclaim it's favourite t-shirt. Like some mix of a Hugh Grant movie and Thriller

Torn from my chest and laid at your feet,

Torn from your chest. hmmm. not ripped from your abdomen, or pulled from your thorax, but torn from your chest and laid at whose feet? We're talking about your heart, right? What does laying your heart at someone's feet even mean? Is it submission ('I will love you if you let me') or something else ('I will remove organs for you, here, have my lovely organs. The kidneys are particularly good tonight, I suggest picking a california white to go with them.')

That first step that you took was the worst.

Is this the first step ever? First step away from you, or first step when your ex was a baby. You realize your construction makes the first step the subject of your sentence, right? That the "first step" which was the worst, was torn from your chest and laid at his feet. Did you confuse the period and the comma again? Or are you just fucking kidding me?

Since then you've walked a thousand miles in solace and short remark,
And I still have these memories,
But will never see what we could have been.

Did you even try reading this out loud? Is the rhythm supposed to remind you of a retard skipping?

Remember when we talked about where we'd be a year from now?
Remember when you held my hand like you'd never let it go?
Remember, cause that's all you can do.

What, did you kidnap him and tie him to a chair? Is he unable to even piss himself now? Is this hyperbole or stupidity or both? Does your Ex not go to work, not do anything now that you're gone, does he sleep all day? Oh wait, he can't sleep, cause all he can do is remember.

We'll never make another memory,
We'll never make another memory.

This line needed to be repeated because I nearly forgot how much I hate this poet.

I wish I would have died in your arms the last time we were together,
So I wouldn't have to wake without you today.

Ew. Gross.

This time I thought things were real,
You said they were,
What happened?
You were a priority,
Was I an option?

Ok, if you have trouble with love being optional, than obviously you are some type of hitherto unknown sex-goddess, because now that you have made us aware that you are memorable to the point of exclusion of all other actions besides remembering, you also have a problem with people choosing to like you. They must be compelled! Compelled, Dammit! KNEEL. Oh wait, got away from myself there.

I let you see a side of me that I don't share with anyone.

And now let everyone on craigslist boston see, because you liked it so much you dumped me.

Promises are just words unless they are fulfilled.

Yes. As are threats. Like this: I am going to skull-fuck you with a gelato scoop. Pretty, pretty words.

Knew from the beginning all I had to offer you was my heart,
I'm just sorry that it wasn't enough.
So, we'll go our own ways,
And hopefully you'll remember these things I've told you,
Hopefully you'll understand that everything I said is in sincerity.

Umm, can't you just say it is sincere?

A broken heart is not what I wanted from this,
But I guess I've learned from it.

Obviously not much about poetry, or the english language.

But aren't you supposed to learn from your mistakes?
I don't consider this a mistake,

Ooooh, this could be neat, because she says she learned from it, then asks a rhetorical question which establishes that mistakes are something that one learns from, but then denies that what precipitated the learning was a mistake, thus leading us to the question: What else do we learn from? Oh, this isn't a poem about a break up, it's a syllogism about learning. I get it now.

I just wish the story didn't end this way,
Cause I'm still in love with the person who helped me write it.
Remember when you held my hand like you'd never let it go?
Remember when we talked about where we'd be a year from now?

And he told you he'd be off ski-dooing in tahiti while you were composing crappy poems and languishing in your morosophy, trying desperately to make a "first step" be torn from your heart. Yeah, I bet he remembers that.