Trust me.
When i talk about love
Please don’t listen
I know nothing.

You want free advice, stop in the soup kitchen of love
Look for that sad queue slouched out in the rain
The moist-eyed and slack-jawed lost in their
Crying, muttering, ranting; all suffering from love or its lack
Broken hearts, migraines, IBS, anger issues, herpes, and worse.

Keep your distance from the tight-lipped stoics
Who pretend they’re toughing it out
Never mind when they say I don’t want to talk about it
They’ll suck you in with blubbering pouts ‘til you gag
From the sour whine of welt schmerz on their breath.

Once inside, shuffle up to the counter and sidle up
To the big-hearted volunteers with hurt smiles and cheerful caps
That tell you “I ♡ love” as steam rises from the pans
Gird yourself for peculiar odors from tired casseroles soggy with
Overcooked tropes, clichés, and greeting-card homilies.

They’ll slop these on your greasy plate:
Love is like two hearts are beating as one
If you have a fight, make up before you go to bed
Don’t sweat the small stuff
It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

When the volunteers scrape the bottom of the pot
they’ll dish up wisdom that’s too hard to swallow
Remember, love misspelled inside out is ‘oval’
Better to love than to be in love, and vice versa
And for dessert, a scoop of always wear protection.

When you stumble out of the soup kitchen of love
Don’t come complaining to me
I know nothing and i told you so;
You got what you paid for
Next time, see a professional.