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So I wrote a love poem about me and my boyfriend

“The Secret To A Long-Term Relationship”

Is not in gushy letters, or midnight calls, or Skyping every weekend

To see if your boyfriend is still alive and working on his GPA

So he can get into medical school. It's none of the lies

In teen girl magazines and Cosmopolitan, of which I'm pretty sure

Is written by man-hating fembots who think that stabbing

Forks into your man's thighs are a sure way to get him off.

No, it's in never speaking to each other, burying yourself underneath

Talking to friends in between classes and going on tumblr during

Boring lecture halls so you can rage about how ridiculously perfect

Tom Hiddleston is and how you want to tear off your skin to let out

Some of that want. Some of that desire, which my boyfriend can

Satisfy when it pleases him to acknowledge my existence, but I'm no

Paragon of divine cling, no martyr of spending every minute of my free time

Thinking about my boy and wondering why he hasn't texted me back.

I'm colder than that, my interest is frozen and our relationship is on ice,

Neither moving away from the lingering gold of the honeymoon phase

Nor maturing into the cranky bullshit that married couples destroy themselves

Over. I wonder how they can stand to be in the same room after

So many years of cars, kids, mortgages, whatever that people

In love are supposed to weather out and become stronger and it's such bullshit

Because I forget my boyfriend's existence for days at a time and we

Are still happy together, thank you very much. No we didn't settle, and no

After nearly two years together we don't cheat. Why would I dare

To become some miserable queen to some miserable jack? Sure, when

He forgot my birthday last month I wondered if he'd strayed

But then I remember that the bastard liked me for a year and couldn't

Spit it out so I had to seduce him with cupcakes that asked him to the

Backwards dance in senior year of high school. And he did take me out

By the way, and he make me scream not even a block down from my house

In the dark of his parents' van's trunk, and nothing says coupled bliss like him

Licking his fingers and whispering how beautiful I am with my dress zipped down.

During the day we sit in our messy rooms with all the homework we put off

To chase entirely different interests, and when we do talk about them I listen

And nod encouragement because I want him to not be me. I don't

Want the happy marriage on TV because it'll never work for a girl

Who holds people at the perfect distance: not too far away to forget a name

And not too close where they can touch my hair, smell me in the morning,

See my disgusting habits that aren't cute or humanizing but are that which

I want to destroy. I want to suck his dick in a movie theater parking lot and

Not have to worry about him seeing me in the morning with drool

Crusted at the corner of my mouth that still tastes like his spunk.

And I can see myself marrying him out of college when I

Move away to teach English in Japan, and we'll text each other every other week

And maybe see each other once a year, and it'll be fine. Just fine

For me, for him, and no it's not settling when we both know

How a long distance relationship with anyone else will end.

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