The poet

Love is not for the weak ones.

What goes around, comes around. The poet, even with his wonderful speech, his sweet and irresistible words, his big heart full of love, sleeps in the sink, sleeps in the bench of the square, sleeps alone. The fact of you knowing something deeply, does not mean that you worth it or really know it, or want it.

Love is not for the weak ones. The poet does not know what he wants. He wants to be loved, but he does not allow himself to love. He writes poetry on the restrooms doors, reads Sabrina, reads Twilight, watches chick flicks movies, listens to romantic songs, he collects love letters. He is graduated, post-graduated, master, doctor, postdoc in Love Science. But he has never experienced it

The poet is an emotional homicide, perhaps a serial-killer and a suicide as well, why not? Poor are those hearts that fell in love with him, got hurt and tried a second, third, forth, fifth chance to the poet to love them. Oh, but the poet is superior, too intolerant, too proud, too inflexible. No one is at his level.

Who loses in love game? Who loses in the divination game? Who can read the poet mind and enunciate all that he wants you to say to him, all he expects you to do? In order to love the poet, you have be his dreamboat riding a white horse.

What's up, poet, have you been kissing lots of frogs? Frogs that hurt you when they play with your heart, just like you did with those who loved you and were forlorn? Oh, my God! You were cheated and became a Horned Frog? Cry, poet, cry. Love has passed so many times by you and you always rejected it due to your fear, pride, intolerance. His superior love only brought you insomnia, worthless lessons, unnecessary scars and your everlasting loneliness.

Yes, poet, you are losing people, closing doors, locking yourself inside your SHU and throwing the keys out under the door. While you go crazy because of your never achieved love, people your hurt thank to God you kicked out them from your sad life. You avoided them from more unnecessary scars, from a confusing and worthlessly painful. They do not run the risk of suffering for someone who was too low of your emotional extent, of loving someone who knew too much about love in theory and nothing about love in practice.

NICK CAVE & THE BAD SEEDS - O Children