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In my youth

Art by Annick Bouvattier

A girl like you.

In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.

In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.

In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over-rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.

In my youth I would have made up a hundred heroic stories in my head where I come to your rescue. Saving you from the clutches of the mob, the grip of an assailant, the jaws of death. Or perhaps just finding your lost dog.

In my youth I would have written you tortured poems, toiled over for hours, scrawled on stolen paper, that would never leave the pocket of my faded denim jeans.

In my youth I would have wished for the internet, if I could have seen into the future.

Yet here I am. Connection at my fingertips. Posting pointless poetry.

That you will probably never read

A girl like you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written four years ago, and I am still posting pointless poetry.

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 
18 Comments

Posted by on May 28, 2020 in Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

In my youth

Art by Annick Bouvattier

A girl like you.

In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house , hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.

In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.

In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.

In my youth I would have made up a hundred heroic stories in my head where I come to your rescue. Saving you from the clutches of the mob, the grip of an assailant, the jaws of death. Or perhaps just finding your lost dog.

In my youth I would have written you tortured poems, toiled over for hours, scrawled on stolen paper, that would never leave the pocket of my faded denim jeans.

In my youth I would have wished for the internet, if I could have seen into the future.

Yet here I am. Connection at my fingertips. Posting pointless poetry.

That you will probably never read

A girl like you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written three years ago, and I am still posting pointless poetry.

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 
10 Comments

Posted by on May 26, 2019 in Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

In my youth

Art by Annick Bouvattier

A girl like you.

In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house , hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.

In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.

In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.

In my youth I would have made up a hundred heroic stories in my head where I come to your rescue. Saving you from the clutches of the mob, the grip of an assailant, the jaws of death. Or perhaps just finding your lost dog.

In my youth I would have written you tortured poems, toiled over for hours, scrawled on stolen paper, that would never leave the pocket of my faded denim jeans.

In my youth I would have wished for the internet, if I could have seen into the future.

Yet here I am. Connection at my fingertips. Posting pointless poetry.

That you will probably never read

A girl like you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written two years ago, and I am still posting pointless poetry.

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 
18 Comments

Posted by on May 24, 2018 in Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

In my youth

Art by Annick Bouvattier

A girl like you.

In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house , hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.

In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.

In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.

In my youth I would have made up a hundred heroic stories in my head where I come to your rescue. Saving you from the clutches of the mob, the grip of an assailant, the jaws of death. Or perhaps just finding your lost dog.

In my youth I would have written you tortured poems, toiled over for hours, scrawled on stolen paper, that would never leave the pocket of my faded denim jeans.

In my youth I would have wished for the internet, if I could have seen into the future.

Yet here I am. Connection at my fingertips. Posting pointless poetry.

That you will probably never read

A girl like you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written a year ago, and I am still posting pointless poetry.

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 
25 Comments

Posted by on May 24, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

In my youth ….

Art by Annick Bouvattier

A girl like you.

In my youth I would have fought other boys for the right to walk you home. Wearing the scars like a badge. Or I would have wandered backwards and forwards past your house , hoping to catch a glimpse of you at a window. Or long for you to see me, a shadowy figure beneath the street light, and think me romantic.

In my youth I would have carved presumptuous initials into innocent trees, into battered park benches, into tables, and desks, and the backs of chairs – not caring if I was caught. Or that you would disapprove if you knew.

In my youth I would have sought you out at dances, making a mess of my over rehearsed lines. I would have asked a friend to give you messages – which you would probably receive with a frown.

In my youth I would have made up a hundred heroic stories in my head where I come to your rescue. Saving you from the clutches of the mob, the grip of an assailant, the jaws of death. Or perhaps just finding your lost dog.

In my youth I would have written you tortured poems, toiled over for hours, scrawled on stolen paper, that would never leave the pocket of my faded denim jeans.

In my youth I would have wished for the internet, if I could have seen into the future.

Yet here I am. Connection at my fingertips. Posting pointless poetry.

That you will probably never read

A girl like you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Annick Bouvattier

 

 
21 Comments

Posted by on May 23, 2016 in Still Life

 

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