O Jimmy Walters

Your eyes shine like the screen of my Blackberry when I get a text

Your voice sounds like Angels having orgasms

And my heart fluttered when you asked me for the answers of last night's homework

And when you scratched your head when I told you the graphs were of parabolas

And when you continued to scratch your head when I explained what parabolas were.

Every time you flex your muscles, I feel the urge to feed the hungry

You are the Mac to my Cheese

The Potter to my Harry

The pad to my—garage—once a month

O Jimmy Walters

I am so in love with you

Will you please park your car in my garage?

So I can get pregnant,

drop out of high school

and spend the rest of my crappy life raising a child singlehandedly, working two jobs and living off of food stamps all because I threw away my self-respect, life, and chances for any type of desirable future for you—a dumb, shallow, dickhead who probably didn't even read this far down the page because you hate reading and can't understand the words that my ten year old brother uses, and so you just assumed the rest of this poem was a glorification of you, because what kind of girl wouldn't fall head over heels for you upon sight? because you are such a catch.

O Jimmy Walters

I do believe we are soul mates.

I haven't been this in love

Since yesterday

But now I am so over Mack Stuart

So, touch my butt in the hallway, okay?


The Girl Who Sits in Front of You In PreCalc