Blind Date From Hell: She Said/He Said

She Said:

Eager to meet him,
An enigma from the web,
Yet upon his arrival,
My heart filled with dread.

His visage bore a scowl,
A sneer graced his lips.
He offered no greeting,
Just grunted and dismissed.

At dinner, he ordered,
A dish not to my taste.
When I dared to object,
He told me to make haste.

He boasted of his riches,
His stature and his fame,
Yet I struggled to discern,
The charm beneath his claims.

As the evening progressed,
His demeanor only soured.
I yearned for sweet escape,
From this man so dour.

At last, when he departed,
I exhaled a sigh of peace.
Vowing to never again endure,
Such torment, by the least!

If you venture on a blind date,
Heed your instincts from the start.
Lest you find yourself entangled,
With a suitor most bizarre.

He Said:

Eager to meet her,
A vision from the virtual sphere,
But upon her entrance,
My heart sank with a tinge of fear.

Her countenance was stern,
A perfunctory greeting she gave.
I pondered her intentions,
Her presence here, so grave.

She appeared displeased,
With the meal I had chosen.
I attempted conversation,
Her retorts, curt and frozen.

She lamented her employment,
Her life in disarray.
I endeavored to empathize,
But found it hard to convey.

As the hours ticked by,
Her mood only grew bitter.
I strove to shift the focus,
But felt my efforts wither.

When the date concluded,
I relished my release.
Resolute in my conviction,
To never see her again, at least.

If you embark on a blind date,
Approach it with an open heart.
Or you may just encounter,
A romance that's doomed from the start.

They Said:

From Her Perspective:

I deemed him uncouth,
On that initial blind encounter.
Yet, unexpectedly, in time,
My sentiments began to flounder.

We crossed paths once more,
In a quaint café, by chance.
And before I was aware,
We were lost in a lively dance.

We discovered common ground,
In our shared passions and delights.
And in spite of our turbulent beginning,
Our love unfurled, took flight.

We ventured into courtship,
His true nature unveiled.
I grasped that my first judgement,
Had been woefully curtailed.

As we delved into love's depths,
I recognized my past mistake.
Our disastrous introduction,
Merely a hiccup to forsake.

From His Perspective:

Our initial rendezvous was calamitous,
I presumed we'd part for good.
Yet fate contrived another meeting,
And my resolve, misunderstood.

We conversed with fervor,
I felt my soul ignite.
Despite her former iciness,
I yearned to reunite.

As we grew acquainted,
A fresh aspect emerged.
And despite our rocky genesis,
Our hearts began to converge.

Our love swelled with vigor,
Through trust and tender care.
I knew that I'd discovered,
A partner beyond compare.

Our nuptials were flawless,
Exchanging heartfelt vows.
I recognized that our devotion,
Had blossomed from a simple browse.

If a first date leaves you disenchanted,
Do not hastily foreclose.
For you may uncover true love,
And a lifetime of repose.

Don’t even bother looking at me like that. I ain’t a poet, and my mama knows it.

So You Want To Be A Writer by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.