Ah, high school. I remember it well. The moss green lockers. The toilet stalls decorated with curse words and variations of BH + CK = Heart. The hormone surges I romanticized into a love I kept secret and safe. Much like Gollum, I too had a "precious" during my freshman year. Unlike Gollum, I didn't leap into the mouth of Mount Doom to stay with him. That would have been difficult, since he didn't even know I existed.
I did, however immortalize my high school crush in verse. Since I'm not the best poet (some would say I'm not a poet at all, but they are just negative lip-pursers), I ripped off Byron's She Walks In Beauty. Re-reading my lovesick blazon now, it's less romantic and more...literal. Hey, we can't all be in a textbook.
He Walks With Glasses
He walks with glasses, probably
Because he's near or farsighted
And objects become much less blurry
With lenses. They perch atop the tip
Of his nose. Look out! Oh dear, don't fall
Once more into th'orchestra pit.
One press the more, one tilt the less,
And tuned becomes the bass he plays.
I watch: he flips away a tress
Of hair, but it won't move all the way
out of his eyes, "Love!" I profess
"What?" asks Julie. (the violin she plays...
...and she shares my stand). I must pretend!
She turns her gaze towards him that lit
My heart afire. "Oh Bach!" Blurt I. "He's such a blend
Of manly...stuff." She meets my eye, and scoots a bit
Away from me. (My secret's safe!) My Apollo tends
to his own score. True love, sighs my entrapped spirit.
10 million Dan Points says you can't write a better secret crush poem than this. GO.