Fifteen years old and handsome by grace,
With a lack of wits to match his shining face.
Confidence brimming over in his loud voice,
Our hero was a student by profession; a lover by choice.
His perilous journey started at the tender age of four,
When going to school seemed to be quite a chore.
That is, till he noticed his very first girl,
Freckled and bold with a mop of fair curls.
He told her he loved her, his face quite grave,
But she dismissed him with a cavalier wave,
He didn't cry, though his head did ache.
Was this like the movies, real heartbreak?
He felt older beyond his years, but she didn't care,
And though she was lost soon, he never forgot her hair.
Not long after, when he graduated to kindergarten,
A lovely little lady visited his solitary playgarden.
She had on a little frock, her cheeks delightfully rosy,
He invited her to come sit, and please do be cosy;
But, as it transpired, she came not for tea,
But to throw a handful of mud at young master Humphrey.
That was the name of our yet-young and heartbroken boy;
A student by profession, a lover by choice.
He had not a sister, and craved the company of females,
But in the following years, he became quite used to dismally fail.
Some say this lies rooted in the fact,
That he possessed absolutely no tact,
Near a lady the poor bastard cannot control his tongue;
Perhaps he started looking for love quite a bit too young.
Some almost-conquests stand out from the dismal pack:
The bright eyed girl in sixth grade, broke his pencilbox with a loud 'crack',
The pretty eighth grader who harmlessly flirted,
Seeing his seriousness she wordlessly skirted.
Yes, our protagonist suffered many a heartbreak,
He listened well, bought red roses, and on occasion baked a cake.
He didn't like fighting, or other manly stupid games,
He never fit in with the other boys, and it was such a shame.
He would be a good husband, he was sure of it,
He would be a good father, and command by gentle wit.
Why, then, did he dissipate girls so?
I do not think we shall ever know.
“Perhaps”, he sighed, in his sixteenth year,
“I am meant not be loved”, and he shed a solitary tear.
He didn't end up celibate, renouncing romance,
He didn't end up gay, and it wasn't by chance.
He was sixteen years old and searching for love,
And right then, somebody gave him a gentle shove.
“Don't cry! Crying is for a wuss.
Man up, buddy, don't be a puss.”
He turned around and faced a young girl,
Dressed in baggy clothes, her hair without a curl,
At first he was disenchanted.
“You're no lady!”, he ranted.
She gave him a frown for his troubles and a kick in the shin,
And never gave him a chance to see her trembling chin.
“You're a sexist jerk, and you stereotype,
You think only girly girls are real girls, oh, I know your type.
Well, mister, I can give you a run for your money,
I can play soccer and crack jokes that are actually funny.
I listen to music, the real kind, and I'm kind and witty.
I don't wear skirts, so you think I aren't pretty,
But, mister-” She said in a rush, in an angry huff,
And whipped off her glasses and band in a puff.
Her eyes shone in the fading light,
Dark, intelligent and bright.
Also rather angry just now,
And wouldn't stop to let him wow.
Her hair were straight but raven-black,
And she noticed his awed look before her next attack.
My goodness, he said to himself in surprise,
She saw his open mouth and gazing eyes,
And spared him a small smile,
(He noticed her perfect teeth, meanwhile)
And arranged her features in a scowl again,
Moving on to awkward terrain.
“Beauty isn't skin-deep, you ignorant little jerk,
Think better next time, now goodbye – I have work.”
He stared at her retreating back,
Shamefully not following her track.
She's a beauty, he mused, but not to my taste,
She's loud and violent and she got no grace -
I'd love her to be my buddy though, we'd get along swell,
And, smiling a little, he went away as well.
Ah, irony, and it graced us yet again,
Many a fellow reminisced and laughed, when
Humphrey and Alex said their vows,
They've been happily married for quite a bit now.
It matters not, I suppose, curly hair and rosy cheeks,
Good looks that make a guy go weak,
At the end, all our hero did need,
A lady who would love him and take the lead.
“Love prevails!”, our protagonist would cry out,
“Goodwill and common sense!”, dear Alex would shout.
With a kiss she'd mute out poor Humphrey's voice,
Now not a student by profession, but always a lover by choice.