I feel like you often fall in love.
and I'm just the same curves, mapped out in a slightly different way.
you know my body like a town you spent your summers in when you were young,
old buildings may have been demolished,
replaced by new buildings,
but it's still the same old place,
that you've been so many times before.

how am I different from the others?
besides the color of my hair,
or the markings on my skin.
because, to you, I don't feel different.
I don't feel special,
and I don't feel like your one and only,

just one of the many.

2:03am Monday morning,

and I'm sitting here, writing ******* poetry about you,

because you'll give me tiny glimpses of your soul,

and happily fill every my orifice.

but you won't give me anything more than that.

*******,

we're going to spend so long ******* around that by the time you actually decide that you want something from me,

I will have found someone else.

I need to find someone else.

who won't

say one thing,

and do the other.

who is exactly my type,

and is nothing like you.

I hate that I know the location of the dumb moles on your back,

and that you told me about your grandmother's dementia,

or your mother's philosophy that no act is selfless,

I hate that you told me your most embarrassing secret,

or that you make me read cookbooks aloud on a Sunday morning, when I'm wearing nothing but your t-shirt from the night before, and every time I say a different ingredient you moan, or giggle, or gasp, or grab me and tell me how hot the way I say coriander is.

I hate that you wore ugly pajama pants around me,

I hate that you showed up, drunk, on my door step at 4am after ignoring me all night, and all you wanted to do was cuddle.

and that the next morning I called you a ****, and a ****, to your face, for making me so confused about whatever is going on with us.

I hate that you said "maybe we should take a step back, because I don't wanna be a ****"

(aka because you don't want a relationship.)

well, neither do I,

I never wanted this.

I was 4 months out of a 3 year relationship, enjoying my new found freedom.

I just woke up after a typical one night stand,
to all of my favorite things,
in one room,

your room.

I never wanted the guy I had been sleeping with at the time to turn off my "whiney pop punk", just to find the exact same cd in your collection days later.

I never wanted to find out that we have the same favourite bands, or that we both like films too much.

I never wanted you to offer to sneak home from work at 10am to drive me home, just so that I could have a few more hours sleep in your bed.

I never wanted to be attracted to a guy who is the total opposite from my usual "type",
or who reminds me of my dad.

I never wanted your best friend to tell me that he wants us to date, even though you're not ready for a relationship.

because I'm not either,

but now,

are we stuck attempting to casually **** other people to avoid what might be happening?

after all, in the span of one evening you ****** one best friend and I ****** the other.

I messaged you at 5am on Saturday,
after I'd had a ******* *******,
and you told me to come pick you up from some girl's house so that we could go back home to yours.

you told me that you didn't wanna hear my *** stories anymore.

you'd message me on a Monday afternoon, fishing to see if I'd ****** someone else on the weekend.

you told me one Saturday night that you wanted to spend the entire Sunday together, in your bed, watching Star Wars and ******* all day.

and that during the walk home, we could keep warm by making out.

you even messaged me to tell me that you kissed a girl, but that you then decided to go home and message me instead.

my friends have begun to hate you for all the head ******* you do to me,

and even after I changed your name back from "******" in my phone,
you still **** me around,

I don't even think you like The Smiths,
so I don't know why I care about you in the slightest,

I guess it must be because I think it's cute that when you talk about eating meat, you say the name of a vegetable instead, just to try and please me.

or maybe because whenever we are about to ****,
you say "tell me what you want"

and after I respond, I ask you
"what do you want?"
and all you moan to me is

"I want you".

or maybe just because we are kinda sexually compatible.

after all, you said the way I grab your **** is "magical".

our discussion last week, drunk, in the club bathroom.
when you yelled loudly about
how great I am in bed,
and how you hate your ****** job,
and that you've never been single as an adult,
and you just want to be free for once in your life.

and I said I was the same,
all I want is a life free of consequence,
doing whatever I want to do.
no
strings

we agreed that we both wanted the same thing,
and then you watched me leave with another guy.



I have to stop myself from thinking about the things that you say or do,
because I'm confused enough as it is.

like the fact that you messaged me to apologise for not having sober *** with me saturday morning,

or that you finally went down on me for the first time friday night,
(it only took you 3 months)
(some stupid part of me thinks it's because you like me,
but my common sense tells me otherwise),

I honestly don't know what we are doing,

and you probably don't either.

your eyes meet with hers,
through the loud swarming mass of
drunken people talking louder and louder by the second,
so you throw that smile,
you throw it and you pray that
she throws one back,
so you don't have to
spend another night,
lying in your bed,
alone.

and then,
the corners of her eyes gentle crinkle,
the apples of her cheeks bloom,
her soft lips slightly part,
as if already inviting you to
taste inside.
so you go,
move closer,
trying to remain steady on your feet,
trying to find something witty to say through the drunken fog that fills your head,
not that it matters,
she'll laugh regardless,
and give you that look,
that look,
that look that says
I want you to lay me on your bed,
take a hold of me,
and search inside me for something that cannot be found.

so you take her hand,
your palm slightly damp,
from holding on to your beer like a lifeboat,
as if it was keeping you afloat.
she leads you through the crowd,
you're squeezed in every direction until you are birthed on to the street,
finally surrounded by air that isn't heavy with
ingratiation,
desperation.

she's done this before,
you can tell,
it makes you kind of nervous,
but also makes you feel safe,
at least one of you has control of this
'situation'.

the words tripped, and stumbled,  from my lips,
as i tried to tell you that
i didn't love you
but all that my lips and tongue could form
were the words
"i need time"
when really,
all i needed
was to have time
away
from you.

and doesn't he make you feel special,
the way he wraps his arms around your waist,

too bad that feeling is wasted
and anything but special