Anti-love poems

Love Isn't...

This decade, I should say,
has improved none since that day
when I should've taken chance, and dropped my shy facade.
Did my first, true love await that day? Ask God.

How should'a, would'a, could'a my life improved?
With every indecision, did I depthward move?
Had I tried, I could've known whether or not I would've blown
the chance or received from her a nod.

Past year, I would've asked
the girl, whom in my visions basked
were it not for those already in her life.
I would have nipped the bud of mine own strife.

How would the year have shifted?
Would my marks or spirits have been lifted?
T'is too late to contemplate
whether she'd have been my wife

Last week, I could've struck
up a conversation with some luck
with the cashier at the local store.
With my worser judgement, this impulse I did ignore.

How could my week have changed?
Perhaps a date would've been arranged,
but to wonder is a blunder
and a bore.



I know some of those aren't words, but so was a lot of shit before Shakespeare threw them in a play