Compatibility

This is a poem about dating apps. Yes, I tried a few for a while, and yes, the experience was as terrible as you would think. Maybe I think about everything too deeply, but I think there’s a lot to be said about the mass of emotions attached to dating apps: from making a profile, scrolling through, trying to get a conversation going, maybe going on a date or two, to (if you’re like me) deciding when it’s time to throw in the towel completely and delete the damn thing. There’s also a million questions wrapped up in the experience, the ones we want answers to, the ones we’re forced to ask but would rather avoid. So I wrote a poem.

If you are still persevering on a dating app, no judgement from me. That would be so hypocritical, considering I may or may not have gone on a YouTube dating show… Carry on and may you find the person of your dreams. I don’t think the apps are inherently bad, and many of my friends have had positive experiences and even met partners on them, but they have definitely contributed to the dumpster fire that is our current dating culture. I hope this poem captures at least some of the experience and helps uncover what we’re really looking for. I also hope it makes you laugh.

The title is still working itself out, but I’m just calling it ‘Compatibility’ for now. Also the banner pic has nothing to do with it, I just thought the sunflowers were pretty.

You’re invited
To the lonely hearts club meeting
In this digital space, we have
What you’re looking for
True love? Why not!
The answer to all your questions
Or a fling, stringless and risk-less
Just curate your perfect self
Into 6 pictures 
Convince us you’re worth knowing

But type carefully, 
one wrong move,
You’ll be swiped
Ex’d
Forgotten as quickly and thoroughly 
As any other passerby

I’ll take that deal,
So cautiously I’m
Hopeful to start
Downloading and downgrading
My expectations

But hope faded, and jaded
I tapped no on
Another blurry profile pic
Another gym selfie
Another cropped photo 
From his friends wedding

I flip through this 
IKEA catalogue of potentials
Wondering why I am supposed
To care so deeply
About pineapple on pizza
And wracking my brain
To come up with a clever, 
Thoughtful, funny, honest
Aloof but interested,
Doesn’t-take-myself-too-seriously 
Response to
                      hey

What do you really think you’ll pick up with that line,
You self-fancied Shakespeare?
I haven’t fallen for you,
I’ve only tripped over your cliché 
Soon I’m convinced
If there’s a diamond in this rough mine,
I’ll awaken a Balrog before finding him

Conversation starters strike a match
That burns out in an instant
Disillusionment settles in
To boredom
It becomes a game
To fuel my addiction to novelty

I came looking for my fairytale
My prince, my champion
But all I found is 
More ghosts than 
Disney’s Haunted Mansion
Yet spell-bound by possibility, 
The scroll continues

I see now we’re really playing at
The exchange of power
Passing with judgement back and forth
With every tap the ball switches court
Though in my head I’m holding mine
Suitors presenting themselves
At my pleasure,
Here love’s labour is truly lost
The beauty of the faithful pursuit
Supplanted by the convenience 
Of jumping ship at leisure
Before anything can really begin,
And I find as I lower the scepter
None of us can win

Because in this database of loneliness
Every message left on read
Leaves an unanswered question
Rejection always personal
Despite distance from a profile

We’re all just Bumbling through, trying to find
The Hinge at which
The Tinderbox springs open
But instead we’re just rubbing Salt 
Into the wound
When the stars of the Coffee and Bagel 
Get crossed

We were so desperate for
The beginning of our stories
We created all this space
To be noticed
Now we’ve put ourselves out there
We discover
The very thing we’ve feared
More than being alone
To be seen
And to be found wanting
Not wanted

Is this the new romance of the rose,
Throwing hearts into the void
Barely daring to hope they might come back?
Masqueraded chance encounters
Replaced with manufactured meet-cutes
All of our complex, beautiful, rich,
deep, creative selves
Reduced to reports on
Foods we enjoy or music we listen to 

As if the most common connection
Could be the inception
Of a strong foundation 
A match made to perfection.
Is it too late to change the direction
Of this ill-fated narration?
Must all our satisfaction 
Be found in this hazy reflection
Of the truest of loves?

What if there’s an invitation to 
Something more
Accepted by deleting 
Freeing my focus
From this singlemindedness  
To be wholly recollected