I should have known that you were trouble
the minute your text popped up
peppered in one spot
with a glaringly misspelled word.
I was told that this is the year
to go with the flow,
give folks a chance instead of
running at a misplaced u or r.
Everything in me ached to correct you,
everything in those around me,
pushing for my wedding and kids,
ached to smack me for grammatical discrimination.
They should have known that wrong spelling
was the least of your troubles and issues.
You came, you saw, you tried to break me,
and they still hounded me to give you a chance.
Your horrible spelling skills hid your chauvinistic
and misogynistic machismo – A surprise, considering
how much you clung to your anthem of modernity
A renaissance man, the image you perpetuated.
My nerves bristled and my smiles kept dropping
every time you sent me an email with blatant mistakes.
I tried to hint to you, pointing out my loss of faith
in CNN for their wrong spelling in their tickers.
You simply did not get it.
Perhaps your horrible spelling also vaporized your
skills of comprehension and picking up of social cues,
along with any chances of my ‘going-with-the-flow’
I told them.
My future husband has to be able to spell.
Shoot, my future boyfriend has to be able to let me be ‘me’
A renaissance woman.
Snap, my future hook-up has to be able to spell that.

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