[This is a story, check the notes for a better understanding]
I am the craftsman.
I found her young, shy, and slightly confused,
And I dreamt of a life with her,
And found this prospect found me looking quite amused.
I spent my days with her.
I molded her with my hands,
But before I finished my job,
She decided she'd be better used by other men.
All the work I put into her,
All the time I put into her,
All the love I put into her,
Will only have ever served to help
Another stick his inside her.
So I'm the craftsman.
What I made was not for my own use.
She's now older and braver,
But I like to think she's still just as confused.
She must think I'm a loser,
Because she says we should just be friends.
Although I shaped and polished her,
I won't ever get to nail her in the end.
All the work I put into her,
All the time I put into her,
All the love I put into her,
Will only have ever served to help
Another stick his inside her.
========================================
I am an artist.
I found her shaken, quiet, and slightly abused,
And I dreamt of a life with her,
And found this prospect found me looking quite amused.
I spent my days with her.
I let my love flow through my hands,
And though she saw it bright and bold,
She wouldn't reward it like she had another man's.
All the things he did to her,
All the ways he did them to her,
All the pain he put into her,
Will only have made her afraid to let
Another try to do them right with her.
But I'm an artist.
Expression's what I live my life by.
When her love's not touchable,
I wonder if it's even there on the inside.
She must think I'm a predator,
Because she flinches when I brush her arm.
Can she know being physical
Isn't meant to cause her any harm?
All the things he did to her,
All the ways he did them to her,
All the pain he put into her,
Will only have made her afraid to let
Another try to do them right with her.
Author notes
Okay, so what we have here is fiction, and it is an idea I had probably more than a year ago. The problem back then was I was with a girl, I and was always afraid anything I wrote that was in any way sexual would cause people to assume things about her. That relationship's over now though, and now everyone knows exactly how sexual she and I ever were, which was to my sadness not at all.
Now, to talk about the actual poem, it is a 3 part story, but the second part has been omitted. The plot is that there is an average every day girl who has had three boyfriends up to this point in her life. The first part is told from the point of view of her first boyfriend, who calls himself a Craftsman. She's never been with a boy before him, so she's pretty reserved, but over time he becomes her first kiss and then they start doing some heavier stuff that would lead to sex, but they break up before they actually get to the act (and yes, I seriously have not modified the plot since this girl dumped me. I know, I was like a freaking prophet). Anyway, the Craftsman realizes that the next guy she dates won't have to wait so long to warm her up to the idea of doing those things, and it pisses him off.
Then she gets her next boyfriend, who is not represented here, and he is a real bad boy. She's no longer shy about sex because of all the building up to it she had with the Craftsman, so she loses her virginity to this guy and then proceeds to try absolutely any sexual act this guy asks her too. As time goes on she realizes this relationship isn't really love, and she leaves the guy.
Then down the line she gets a third boyfriend, who represents the second half of the poem. He calls himself an Artist. So the girl really loves the Artist, but any time they go to get physical together she freezes up because while she doesn't think sex is evil, she wants a relationship that could be just fine even without it. The Artist gets this, but he still knows all the things her last boyfriend did with her, and it gets to him. He finds himself wondering if she really loves him, because if she was willing to take it all those ways from a guy who was a jerk, what does it say about him that she can't bring herself to do them with him. He knows that's a terrible thing to say to her, but he can't stop himself from thinking it, and he wonders if she can even comprehend that sex can be an act of love.
The moral of the story is bad boys are douche bags who fuck up everything and they should all be shot.
Adding your comment: