Mating Call Poem by Christian Connor Schwantes

The problem with poems is how the soul seeps out.
Through the cracks of the consciousness,
Meditating on mastering the marvelous
Pondering perfection to perform to the other sex
Getting caught in drama of simple text
Looking ahead to contemplate what comes next
They’re just games, the poems we rearrange
Feelings felt by all, short and tall
Something you never meant to say
Casual banter, prices we pay
Ridiculous feelings of fruitless fanfare
She’s heard it before, what more could there be in store
Say simplicity and honesty, often mistook for perfect harmony
Full of oddities and modesty are parts that create this monogamy
But for the record, simple and true
Feeling like such a fool, just boy’s in preschool
Let’s be friends and strive to understand each other till
The end