I'm posting something I wrote here today. So far today, I've written three. One is a cento, and as much as it takes creativity to make a cento, I almost feel like it's sort of a cheat. So, two self portrait poems (including said cento) and this one, a love poem to an inanimate object. In this case, it's my laptop.
HP G62 is a silly name. Can I call you Noelle?
I actually really fucking hate you
and most of the time, I want to
punch you straight in the face,
but then I'd have to have you
repaired or replace you, and the
truth is, I'm very sentimental.
When you're doing what I ask of you,
you're as quick and thorough as a fox
darting through the brush at Island
Beach State Park. I've worn the "A"
off your keyboard, but you don't seem
too worried about it. I tried to feed
you more brain power, but it wasn't
the right stuff and you rejected it.
It's ok. I'm used to being rejected
by the ones I love the most.
The truth is, I want to hate you.
I want to throw you when that blue
screen of death interrupts me in the
middle of a poem, or updating my website,
or listening to music on Spotify.
I want to slam you on the desk and scream,
"Why are you doing this to me?!",
but it's only because I treat you so well.
I just want some appreciation once in a while.
A simple "thank you" or "good night" when I
put you to rest at night will suffice.
I know you see me through your webcam.
I might not be the perfect guy for you
and I suspect you'd be a blonde girl, as most
blondes thumb their noses at me, but sleep
mode tonight knowing that, in all honestly,
I cannot live without you.