Can we be alone,
for one second more?
I want to stay with you,
I've never felt like this before.

Whenever you are near,
my heart begins to race.
Show me what love feels like,
Hold me in your loving embrace.

And though I know, my dear,
as well as you do,
nobody could settle down,
with a man like you,

I just want to know,
for one night only,
just what it feels like,
not to be lonely.

I got to wondering the other day,
I wondered if you still have my t-shirts,
Do they still smell like me?
Do they smell like cologne, youth and regret?

I’ve gotten older, but clearly haven’t gotten smarter,
I clearly haven’t learned to avoid touching stoves
Or walking in traffic
Or poking beehives

**** your institutions,
**** your distance,
And **** your rules,
Because this heart couldn’t care less

The heart wants what the heart wants,
And what the heart wants is to **** me,
It wants to turn the clocks back,
It wants to be less of an *******,
It wants anything but this emptiness,
Anything at all but this…

Please don’t call me beautiful
when your hands are between my legs,
and god forbid you say it as a seg-way
between you’re so hot
and my caution, your response
you’re sure you don’t want to?
I’m pretty sure the way my body looks,
nineteen and stress-infused with an Oreo belly
isn’t really what you pictured beneath my blouse,
and I’m positive you didn’t listen
to the story about my dad and the bad prom dress
because you cared. It was just sentiment. You said it was beautiful,
but really you wanted me to believe the act
like a description in the Playbill
and ride that trust all the way until the curtain dropped.
Please don’t call me beautiful
when the word ******* is before it
or if we are ******* because making love
is for married couples and you don’t even want me
sticking around for the ****** sunrise that peers
underneath your shade every morning.

Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m crying—
crack me open and watch the colors bleed
like a painting that hasn’t dried. Admire
the light that peaks through the clear parts
like a windowpane, no blinds.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m laughing,
when I’m reading my favorite part of a book,
when I’m stuffing my face with peanut-butter
pretzel bites and I haven’t washed my sheets in weeks,
and I’ll know you can’t be lying
because I’ve listened to the waves your heart makes
when you’re sleeping and I’ve called your smile
to the surface many times when you’ve tried
to deflect it back inside. You’ll know that
and you’ll know I’m beautiful.  
Call me beautiful
when you’re not even trying.
Call me beautiful when you’re by yourself
and the smell of my hair is still on your pillow,
or the memory of how dumb I sounded
singing my favorite song breaks your heart back
to the best little pieces.