Search My Words
Justin Barisich

Freelancer. Satirist. Poet. Performer.

Subscribe to My Blog!

Enter your email address to get each new post.

Join 640 other subscribers

Instagram
  • Well, I don't know about y'all, but I had fun on my Friday night. #ByeByeBeardie, #ManInTheMirror, #AllOfTheFaces
  • "If you go home with somebody, and they don't have #books, don't fuck 'em!" - John Waters, film director, screenwriter, author, and actor #ReadABook
  • So I crossed another item off my #NewOrleans bucket list yesterday: finally ran the Crescent City Classic! #ccc10k // I finished the race at exactly an hour for the 6.2 mile course, giving me a pace of 10 min./mile. Didn't stop the whole time, which was my only goal. Really proud of this given the very minimal training I'd done. Admittedly, the body hurts a bit today though. // The weather was gorgeous and seeing the city in this way was so very unique, and I'm glad I got to share the moment with my sister. :) #running #RaceNewb
  • Got the chance to spend today doing some quality day-drinking in #NewOrleans with my leeeedle sister for her 25th birthday. Love ya, Brooketsa! #HalfWayToFifty, #StillYoungerThanMe
  • As seen in a gas station in Whereinthefuck, Alabama. There's layers here, folks. If you keep looking, you keep finding hidden redneck gems in there. #NoneOfThisGoesTogether
  • Y'all, if ya missed out on the #DadsGarage carnival yesterday, ya done goofed. #Hilarious people, great times, and gorgeous weather. Happy to have volunteered with these amazing folks. #Atlanta, #WhosYourDaddy

Follow Me!

Follow me on Twitter
Images
Archives
30/30 Poetry Challenge (2017) Creative Writing Poetry

Day 20 – Love is a Standardized Test (for Jonathan and Elizabeth on their wedding day)

By on June 11, 2017

[Photo Credit: Darrell McDavid Photography]

Love is a test we study for our entire lives
and hope we never have to take.
Because if we fail, it means we were
never prepared for it in the first place.

We emerge from the warmth
of the first woman who ever loved us,
screaming to be returned to the comfort
that is all we’ve ever known –
loving out of survival.

We watch the playground crushes,
perhaps get lucky enough to have a few ourselves –
exchanging the stolen lives of flowers
for plastic trinkets that will live on forever,
even without us, any of us,
any combinations of possible loves and lives.

We watch the Disney fables play out
in glorious fashion, with animation wizardry
montaging past the hard parts,
showing only the highlight reel of
happily ever after, brought to you by
the blotting out of grim truths.
Little girls a world over still search
for their Princes Charming, ever believing
they can still rise to life from ink.

We consume the reality shows
that feed us instructional videos
on how to prep our bachelor pads
so that we may leap
from one Lily to the next,
never lingering long enough
to make a splash in the pond.

We hear stories of our grandparents –
golden and wrinkled, celebrating
their 50th wedding anniversaries –
but it’s the photos of their darkest times
that never seem to get exposed.
We try to breadcrumb trail it back
to what they did to make it work,
but only half the signs are still there,
and they only point in one direction,
and our love has never been good
at following directions.

So Jonathan and Elizabeth,
when love comes for you –
and I hope it has come for you –
I hope you fail its test.
It’s standardized and media-distorted
version of humanity’s greatest function –
one that no formula or script or practice
could ever properly prepare you for.

Because if you did take it,
and if you did pass it,
you’d surely find happiness –
at least someone else’s idea of it –
but such a love would never last.
You’d remember what you’d memorized,
but forget why you’d ever tried to learn it.

So do not fill in the bubbles fully,
or show your work,
or use a #2 pencil,
or a non-graphing calculator,
or your inside voices to explain
your love or logic
for anyone else’s understanding.

Simply write your name at the top
in wide, purple, permanent marker,
Draw an anatomically-incorrect heart
on the back of your scantron,
and leave everything else blank.

Your answers for acing your specific love
apply to you two alone.
And whatever that is,
and whatever that may become,
has never had an answer key.

And no machine will ever be able to tell you
how perfect you are for each other.

TAGS
RELATED POSTS

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: