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Love Hurts
“Write as you would speak”, I was told one day.
“Oh, no don’t do that”, my Dad would say.
“That would lead to bad grammar and silly mistakes.”
“No it wouldn’t, let her do it her own way for God’s sakes.”
I put pen to paper but came only two words,
The first one was “Love” and the second was “Hurts”.
I looked at those words, each came with deep meaning,
My mind ticked over, my heart was screaming.
“Have you written something yet?” a voice called from beyond.
“No, I don’t want to”, did the young child respond.
“Well, you’d better want to soon”, came the brash reply,
“Don’t make me come up there”, and I started to cry.
This contest meant the world to my Mom and Dad,
If I won they could boast about the great brain I had.
But my brain wouldn’t work now when I needed it most.
“C’mon, hurry up or we’ll miss the last post.
Write something, anything, a few words will do,
If you don’t then forget about our trip to the zoo.”
Please brain, don’t fail me, it’s just you and me.
Love hurts because… because my parents use me.
I’ll win and they’ll say, “We did everything right,
We read her stories and poems before bed each night.
She was reading and writing before she was three,
And that of course is all down to me.”
Oh, give them a sticker that says “Perfect Parent”
Tell the truth I’ll be thinking, but say it I daren’t.
She wasn’t allowed to go out and play
Instead she read Dickens and Milne each day.
Colouring books were banned from our home,
I was told to instead learn a new poem.
Or write a review of my favourite book.
Oh, many a time I felt I was Hook.
I’d been swallowed by a Croc with very sharp teeth,
A bomb tick-tick-ticking deep underneath.
My Mom and my Dad trudged up the stairs,
And I hid my face away from their glares.
Mom snatched the paper from my hand:
Love hurts because my parents use me
To show the world what great parents they are.
Then the world will love my parents in turn,
And that’s the love that hurts me.
“Write as you would speak”, I was told one day.
“Oh, no don’t do that”, my Dad would say.
“That would lead to bad grammar and silly mistakes.”
“No it wouldn’t, let her do it her own way for God’s sakes.”
I put pen to paper but came only two words,
The first one was “Love” and the second was “Hurts”.
I looked at those words, each came with deep meaning,
My mind ticked over, my heart was screaming.
“Have you written something yet?” a voice called from beyond.
“No, I don’t want to”, did the young child respond.
“Well, you’d better want to soon”, came the brash reply,
“Don’t make me come up there”, and I started to cry.
This contest meant the world to my Mom and Dad,
If I won they could boast about the great brain I had.
But my brain wouldn’t work now when I needed it most.
“C’mon, hurry up or we’ll miss the last post.
Write something, anything, a few words will do,
If you don’t then forget about our trip to the zoo.”
Please brain, don’t fail me, it’s just you and me.
Love hurts because… because my parents use me.
I’ll win and they’ll say, “We did everything right,
We read her stories and poems before bed each night.
She was reading and writing before she was three,
And that of course is all down to me.”
Oh, give them a sticker that says “Perfect Parent”
Tell the truth I’ll be thinking, but say it I daren’t.
She wasn’t allowed to go out and play
Instead she read Dickens and Milne each day.
Colouring books were banned from our home,
I was told to instead learn a new poem.
Or write a review of my favourite book.
Oh, many a time I felt I was Hook.
I’d been swallowed by a Croc with very sharp teeth,
A bomb tick-tick-ticking deep underneath.
My Mom and my Dad trudged up the stairs,
And I hid my face away from their glares.
Mom snatched the paper from my hand:
Love hurts because my parents use me
To show the world what great parents they are.
Then the world will love my parents in turn,
And that’s the love that hurts me.
Page:
The sole basis on which I thought it might not be yours is that it uses Mom - an americanism - and not many Americans use this site, SR being a UK company and all.
If you did write it then it's absolutely fantastic, well done. The Peter Pan reference juxtaposed with mom's love of Dickens and Milne is inspired. Even on its own in prose that would be a nice metaphor for the experience your describing, but in poetry it's so much better.
I'm sincerely sorry if you did write this, and my only excuse is that I'm a cynical fellow and when someone posts something *that* good I tend to raise an eyebrow at it. So in some ways my cynicism was a compliment to the brilliance of the poem :-)
If you did write it then it's absolutely fantastic, well done. The Peter Pan reference juxtaposed with mom's love of Dickens and Milne is inspired. Even on its own in prose that would be a nice metaphor for the experience your describing, but in poetry it's so much better.
I'm sincerely sorry if you did write this, and my only excuse is that I'm a cynical fellow and when someone posts something *that* good I tend to raise an eyebrow at it. So in some ways my cynicism was a compliment to the brilliance of the poem :-)
Thanks Grix Thraves
*shrugs*
Still great, who ever wrote it. In my opinion, anyway.
Still great, who ever wrote it. In my opinion, anyway.
I wrote that poem myself about 18 months ago
Didn't write that yourself? Damn, because it's excellent.
Nice poem but don't forget to give credit where it's due...
You seem to have forgotten to share the poem's source
But thanks for sharing it, it was good.
You seem to have forgotten to share the poem's source
But thanks for sharing it, it was good.
Love Hurts
“Write as you would speak”, I was told one day.
“Oh, no don’t do that”, my Dad would say.
“That would lead to bad grammar and silly mistakes.”
“No it wouldn’t, let her do it her own way for God’s sakes.”
I put pen to paper but came only two words,
The first one was “Love” and the second was “Hurts”.
I looked at those words, each came with deep meaning,
My mind ticked over, my heart was screaming.
“Have you written something yet?” a voice called from beyond.
“No, I don’t want to”, did the young child respond.
“Well, you’d better want to soon”, came the brash reply,
“Don’t make me come up there”, and I started to cry.
This contest meant the world to my Mom and Dad,
If I won they could boast about the great brain I had.
But my brain wouldn’t work now when I needed it most.
“C’mon, hurry up or we’ll miss the last post.
Write something, anything, a few words will do,
If you don’t then forget about our trip to the zoo.”
Please brain, don’t fail me, it’s just you and me.
Love hurts because… because my parents use me.
I’ll win and they’ll say, “We did everything right,
We read her stories and poems before bed each night.
She was reading and writing before she was three,
And that of course is all down to me.”
Oh, give them a sticker that says “Perfect Parent”
Tell the truth I’ll be thinking, but say it I daren’t.
She wasn’t allowed to go out and play
Instead she read Dickens and Milne each day.
Colouring books were banned from our home,
I was told to instead learn a new poem.
Or write a review of my favourite book.
Oh, many a time I felt I was Hook.
I’d been swallowed by a Croc with very sharp teeth,
A bomb tick-tick-ticking deep underneath.
My Mom and my Dad trudged up the stairs,
And I hid my face away from their glares.
Mom snatched the paper from my hand:
Love hurts because my parents use me
To show the world what great parents they are.
Then the world will love my parents in turn,
And that’s the love that hurts me.
“Write as you would speak”, I was told one day.
“Oh, no don’t do that”, my Dad would say.
“That would lead to bad grammar and silly mistakes.”
“No it wouldn’t, let her do it her own way for God’s sakes.”
I put pen to paper but came only two words,
The first one was “Love” and the second was “Hurts”.
I looked at those words, each came with deep meaning,
My mind ticked over, my heart was screaming.
“Have you written something yet?” a voice called from beyond.
“No, I don’t want to”, did the young child respond.
“Well, you’d better want to soon”, came the brash reply,
“Don’t make me come up there”, and I started to cry.
This contest meant the world to my Mom and Dad,
If I won they could boast about the great brain I had.
But my brain wouldn’t work now when I needed it most.
“C’mon, hurry up or we’ll miss the last post.
Write something, anything, a few words will do,
If you don’t then forget about our trip to the zoo.”
Please brain, don’t fail me, it’s just you and me.
Love hurts because… because my parents use me.
I’ll win and they’ll say, “We did everything right,
We read her stories and poems before bed each night.
She was reading and writing before she was three,
And that of course is all down to me.”
Oh, give them a sticker that says “Perfect Parent”
Tell the truth I’ll be thinking, but say it I daren’t.
She wasn’t allowed to go out and play
Instead she read Dickens and Milne each day.
Colouring books were banned from our home,
I was told to instead learn a new poem.
Or write a review of my favourite book.
Oh, many a time I felt I was Hook.
I’d been swallowed by a Croc with very sharp teeth,
A bomb tick-tick-ticking deep underneath.
My Mom and my Dad trudged up the stairs,
And I hid my face away from their glares.
Mom snatched the paper from my hand:
Love hurts because my parents use me
To show the world what great parents they are.
Then the world will love my parents in turn,
And that’s the love that hurts me.
Page: