"Nice Try, Lifetime" - Ryan Meehan - Nonexistent seeking nonexistent
Hey folks! Hitting you with another installment of the "Nice Try, Lifetime" theme. Today's poem is fro local writer, Ryan Meehan. Make sure you mark your calendars for our Local Lover's open mic next week on the 22nd at Rozz Tox in Rock Island. 8pm. Free admission.
Enjoy work from Ryan Meehan!
Woman seeking Man, aged 25 to 45. Must not smoke, drink or do drugs. Enjoys long walks on the river and looking for someone with which to share conversation whilst doing so. On a typical weeknight, I can be found snuggling with my beagle Stevie and watching My shows on Netflix. But just to be clear, I’m not up for “Netflix and chill” so don’t ask. I suppose I should say I’m not DOWN with “Netflix and chill”, but keep your mind out of the gutter because I’m not “going down” on anybody. At least not for the first couple of months or so. The man I am seeking must have stable employment, reasonable transportation, and be willing to pay for dinner on the first date. He must also understand that these are givens, and the option to prove otherwise is nothing more than to fill data fields within a profile on one of these fruitless dating apps. Speaking of which, I fully expect that when you are talking to me because I am the only woman in your world as soon as we begin conversing with each other. Desired male’s belief system and religious affiliation must directly mirror that of my own, which of course can change at any given point in time. But let’s be honest here...what I’m really looking for is someone to control. Someone that I can mold to my individual specifications with regards to body type, lifestyle and whatnot. I want you to be exactly what I envision you inside my own mind...Oh wait, that’s what I would say if I was a man ... seeking ... a woman ... A woman who knows I believe in her right to do as she pleases, but also knows at the end of the day that my toxic masculinity shall prevail over all crucial decisions. For I am a unicorn hunter like know other, destroying everything in my path that isn’t you...dainty and frail yet buxom and beautiful woman ... seeking man ... a man that understands my commands are not merely suggestions but also checkpoints within his new structured role as my caretaker, although I am completely independent thank you very many much. A man who knows how to not be a Dick in private and social situations ...but while we’re on the subjects of dicks must possess one that at the very least is more on the larger side, see...my biological clock is ticking and I don’t have much time...to make small talk ... or wait, that’s what I would say if I was a man ... seeking a woman ... the woman of my dreams who understand that of all things I hate small talk, as I am shallow and assuming we can get right to the bedroom. That way I can get Home in time to catch the third daily re-air of “NFL Live”, as I’ve only seen it once. This dream woman must understand that men in tights fighting to the point of certain and permanent brain damage to get a ball over a line is a necessary source of entertainment in my life, as I am sick and perverted when it comes to all that I consume. The logic behind it is Unreasonable in every way, much like the same lack of reasoning taking place in my pea brain that creates expectations that you’ll be my sideline reporter...right here in the middle of nowhere. A ten with no physical flaws or deformities whatsoever, who thoroughly comprehends that it’s undebatable the weaker sex is ... is ... now I don’t even know if I am a man or a woman. I don’t know if I’m seeking a woman or a man. None of us do. We’re so caught up in this endless pursuit of perfection that it’s impossible for us to decipher which we are. And that’s not to segue into some argument about gender fluidity, it’s a fact of this aggravating, hair-pulling out, make us want to punch a brick-wall even though we know that mortar made up of our own insecurities wont allow it to fall into the ground...where we hope our dominance will turn it to dust. But that won’t happen so until then we’re just ... lost in the middle, Where forever I’ll just remain ... a Man seeking woman, ages 25 to 45, equally exhausted of this never-ending cat-and-mouse game.
Enjoy work from Ryan Meehan!
Nonexistent seeking nonexistent
Woman seeking Man, aged 25 to 45. Must not smoke, drink or do drugs. Enjoys long walks on the river and looking for someone with which to share conversation whilst doing so. On a typical weeknight, I can be found snuggling with my beagle Stevie and watching My shows on Netflix. But just to be clear, I’m not up for “Netflix and chill” so don’t ask. I suppose I should say I’m not DOWN with “Netflix and chill”, but keep your mind out of the gutter because I’m not “going down” on anybody. At least not for the first couple of months or so. The man I am seeking must have stable employment, reasonable transportation, and be willing to pay for dinner on the first date. He must also understand that these are givens, and the option to prove otherwise is nothing more than to fill data fields within a profile on one of these fruitless dating apps. Speaking of which, I fully expect that when you are talking to me because I am the only woman in your world as soon as we begin conversing with each other. Desired male’s belief system and religious affiliation must directly mirror that of my own, which of course can change at any given point in time. But let’s be honest here...what I’m really looking for is someone to control. Someone that I can mold to my individual specifications with regards to body type, lifestyle and whatnot. I want you to be exactly what I envision you inside my own mind...Oh wait, that’s what I would say if I was a man ... seeking ... a woman ... A woman who knows I believe in her right to do as she pleases, but also knows at the end of the day that my toxic masculinity shall prevail over all crucial decisions. For I am a unicorn hunter like know other, destroying everything in my path that isn’t you...dainty and frail yet buxom and beautiful woman ... seeking man ... a man that understands my commands are not merely suggestions but also checkpoints within his new structured role as my caretaker, although I am completely independent thank you very many much. A man who knows how to not be a Dick in private and social situations ...but while we’re on the subjects of dicks must possess one that at the very least is more on the larger side, see...my biological clock is ticking and I don’t have much time...to make small talk ... or wait, that’s what I would say if I was a man ... seeking a woman ... the woman of my dreams who understand that of all things I hate small talk, as I am shallow and assuming we can get right to the bedroom. That way I can get Home in time to catch the third daily re-air of “NFL Live”, as I’ve only seen it once. This dream woman must understand that men in tights fighting to the point of certain and permanent brain damage to get a ball over a line is a necessary source of entertainment in my life, as I am sick and perverted when it comes to all that I consume. The logic behind it is Unreasonable in every way, much like the same lack of reasoning taking place in my pea brain that creates expectations that you’ll be my sideline reporter...right here in the middle of nowhere. A ten with no physical flaws or deformities whatsoever, who thoroughly comprehends that it’s undebatable the weaker sex is ... is ... now I don’t even know if I am a man or a woman. I don’t know if I’m seeking a woman or a man. None of us do. We’re so caught up in this endless pursuit of perfection that it’s impossible for us to decipher which we are. And that’s not to segue into some argument about gender fluidity, it’s a fact of this aggravating, hair-pulling out, make us want to punch a brick-wall even though we know that mortar made up of our own insecurities wont allow it to fall into the ground...where we hope our dominance will turn it to dust. But that won’t happen so until then we’re just ... lost in the middle, Where forever I’ll just remain ... a Man seeking woman, ages 25 to 45, equally exhausted of this never-ending cat-and-mouse game.