The Beautiful Poet Boys

God save me from the beautiful poet boys, especially the ones who swing a guitar or other instrument in their hands. I swear, I think they're sent just to distract and destroy me. This fascination is rooted in my love for intelligent men. There is nothing sexier than a smart man. Add to that native attractiveness a gift with words and music, and it's lethal. However, there is always a sadistic twist to these guys that I flee in my saner moments. There is no such thing as a healthy, functional relationship with a beautiful poet boy, especially the musical ones, because, apparently, they have all been screwed up beyond all reclamation by somebody else. They also usually seem to be looking for somebody else to screw them up further, are flinging themselves sacrificially on the altar of some great pyre to some woman who doesn't even notice or who gets a kick out of it. Maybe this is because it makes for good poetry and/or lyrics? I'm not quite sure of the philosophy there.... I'm going to develop my own version of the sign of the cross for this particular brand of temptation, my own lucky charm to ward them off. Since I'm a screwed-up poet girl (who can lay no claim to the title beautiful) myself, I think this is the best scenario all around.