The Truth About College Hookup Culture

Isn’t it pretty,

The way a heart can break,

And fall like leaves in the grass,

Pieces on the ground.

 

It’s her fault,

For wanting to be timeless

In a world of 10 second stories.

For wanting men to paint pictures of her, 

Not, double-tap, ‘like’ her picture.

For wanting love poems,

Not “good morning” texts.

Hoping men would love her like Pablo Picasso,

Like William Shakespeare. 

 

Maybe her problem was that her love was spread out 

And scattered like confetti.

She left her love in too many places

with too many men,

Between wrinkled bed sheets,

In lingering stares,

Drunkenly typed up in text messages

After midnight, that never seem to receive an answer.

 

If only she could give back all the love she took from the universe,

Then her heart would no longer be in debt.

 

She’s exhausted.

Tired of being loved at 2:00 AM,

But ignored by the same man who invited her

To his house 12 hours later

In the cereal aisle of the grocery store

At 2:00 PM.

He doesn’t even say “hi.”

 

Men will sleep with you like trophy hunting.

He will show his friends your Instagram profile

The same way he shows them the buck

He shot, mounted on his wall.