Hairy Kind of Love

The Epic Poem.

This awfully long one was written during the peak of PMS. It reflects the usual feelings of insecurity, self loathing, paranoia, irritability, irrational thinking, mood swings, and a tendancy to turn on the loved one who is mostly an innocent bystander. Mostly, it's just a silly poem about love.

(We Got A) Hairy Kind of Love

Love is hairy
stubbly stuff
shave all week
it's never enough

whether I shave it
or slather on Nair
whack it or hack it
will always be there.

Keeps coming back
as much as you crop it
waxing and chemicals
can’t even stop it

try to ignore it
the nubs comes in thick
even my eyebrows
a uni-brow chick.

Come Saturday
I don’t really care
let it grow outta
my underwear

Let it alone
that unruly mop
looks like I got me
a nice bumper crop

This is my way
ain’t gonna change
my love and my hair
are looking deranged

Sitting there pondering
love and love's looks
flippin’ through Cosmo
and metrosex books

Beauty is bare
in my favorite rag
Nary a hairy
or haggard old nag

Eyebrows are separate
and carefully arched
Lips are injected
and never seem parched.

Legs are butt smooth,
and so are are the pits
Love is not given
to hairy chick fits.

Speaking of nares,
mine is exempt
The nose and the ears
are extremely well kempt.

Sunday mornin’ rolls around
but his razor can’t be found....

I call out his name
and wait for an answer
his ditty bag’s gone
could It be that dancer?

The one that he watches
the one he admires
could she be the one
igniting his fires?

I’ve seen her there waiting
the picture of grace
smooth, fair and agile
not a hair out of place

I sit on the edge of the tub
shocked and numb
look in the mirror
then look at my thumb

I eye up the woman
whose not spent a dime
on personal pleasures
as though it’s a crime

My overgrown garden
could not see the light
missed out on the sweetness
bare skin’s delight

Bought into myth
and every girls hope
that she’d still be worth
something without any soap.

Rummaged around
in a drawer feeling sick
through my tears I lay hold of
my old Lady Bic

Slipped into the shower
convinced he despised me
lathered and cried
none of this has surprised me

He'd seemed a bit distant
preoccupied,
the more I persisted
the less satisfied

I should have considered
my Love is not blind
his eyes are like sponges
his vision will find

The best of the beauties
the cream of the crop
as sweet sugar blossoms
parade past his shop

I have an epiphany
there in the suds
Time's never wasted
on pruning the buds

Better to nip 'em
if you're feelin manly
can't be mistaken for
Charles or Stanley.

Lord knows the time
I've put in at Curves
kept myself healthy
alot of good that it serves

So who really cares
if he's after that minx
just between us
we know how she stinks

Let him go sister
try rising above
cuz if that's all he's after
it ain't really love.

Making my plans
to rip up his picture
wipe out his memory
no longer a fixture

I can't say that I needed
nor much that I cared
for the man or his
dirty laundry I've aired

When into my steamy retreat
disconcerted
the voice of the man I was sure
had deserted.

I silence my heart
and put down the Bic
ease back the curtain
and see my St. Nick

The hairy faced heathen
battered and worn
face kind of prickly
needs to be shorn.

"What is THIS?"
he demands
and holds out his hand
"Why, a worn out old mach 3, the triple edge brand!"

"I just CHANGED this blade and the thing's dull and rusted!!"
"Heck if I know"
but I know I’ve been busted.

Step out of the shower
bare skin drippin wet
"At this rate I think I’ll buy stock in Gillette."

I hold out my bic
and smile at old Bones
"Would you like me to light your cigar, Mr. Jones?"

Leave him to his business
which won’t include the shave
Love is stubbly,
love is soft
and hairy to the grave.