A Lover’s Complaint

You shouldn’t like me
the way that you do.
It’s really not right.
I am fairly stupid and smelly and
good God have you looked at me recently?
It’s like…
it’s like God extracted all the elements of perfection
and then pissed on what was left
and his super-deitoxic urine melted all of muck into a vaguely humanoid malformed me-shape.

But you?
You’re nothing like that.
you’re the complement of that very same equation.
It’s like all the quality God took out of me
only twice as cool.
Could that be it?

Could it be common complementary nature
that leaves you liking me?
Might that explain what makes you
so foolishly infatuated
with one so remarkably beneath you?

that was dumb
and cliched
and far too easy an answer.
It must be
that for you to enjoy my company
you must not be as good
as I thought you were.
That would account for your silly choices.
at last
it makes sense:
You suck
and I
feel so much better.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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