Today I wrote your name in a Bathroom Stall
with the blue sharpie that was in my back pocket.
If my mother knew, she would probably cry,
and if my father knew he'd tell me his hope that it's "just a phase."
But you're not temporary, just like the blue sharpie I used to write your name.
I felt like a young rebel writing those three little letters for all to see.
More than likely nobody would notice, and those who did wouldn't care, but
that doesn't change the way I feel about you, or the way I felt when
I wrote your name in a Bathroom Stall.

You don't smell like
Febreze anymore
but instead butter noodles
and I'm terribly allergic

I would call you
butter noodle cat
but that is too long
and I'm tired

I'm sorry, I don't know how to say this, but
I believe I can see your heart breaking.
Sure, laugh it off, she's just one of the girls-
smile and bat those pretty lashes one more time.

But my eyes know better than to fall for that smile of yours.
I can see that pathetic muscle, pulsating in your chest.
It's close to falling out, if you let it beat so rapidly.

You wear your mask so well, my dear friend, yet to
my eyes, it is sheer, hiding absolutely nothing.
How, you may ponder, can I and only I see the truth?

The answer is, though simple, rather pitiful.
I can see your heart breaking in this way because
my heart has done the same.

So often we crave what we cannot have,
the golden apple, too high out of our reach.
I'm afraid to say, she's out of your reach, especially
considering her Amazonian height.

It doesn't have to end all that badly.
Reach for a closer star, or build a better
rocket and go get the one you're after.
She certainly is a star, isn't she.

It was painted in glowing stars,
and the room was very dark.
I couldn't see where I was going,
but I thought I was limitless.
Those stars were real to me, and they
were closer than ever.
And I was going to touch them,
I was going to be among them,
but they were just an illusion.
Why did I think I could reach the stars
when I should've known that
they're really a false reality
and dreams don't come true
because the stars aren't real,
but only glowing specks of paint on closed doors.

If I had the courage I would tell you
that I like the way your hair looks
and that you smell really nice and
that I want to order a pizza and
watch movies and cuddle on the
couch until we fall asleep together
with the tv still on, but I'm too
scared that you don't want the
same things I do.

but I couldn't let you know what my poems are really about.
If I told you the truth, then you'd know that sometimes I ignore your words
because I'm too focused on your lips.
You'd know that every time we're together I forget we'd ever been apart.
I would have to tell you that they're all about you.

You'd know that I'm hopelessly in love with you, and
that I have been hopelessly in love with you for years.

If I had told you what my poems are honestly about,
I would have to tell you that your smell is my Amortentia
and your smile is my melting point.

When you asked me that night the topic of my poetry,
I could not bring myself to tell you that
my poems are about you because
your poems might not be about me.

Sometimes when I'm by myself
I like to think about you
(really it's most of the time I'm not a very good liar).

I guess you smell pretty good
and I like the way your hair feels in my fingers
(I want to bottle your smell and keep you close to me).

My favorite place to fall asleep is with you
between my arms on the couch
(if it were possible I would never leave that spot).

When you laugh I get kind of happy because
your laugh is cute and then you're smiling
(the happiness radiated through your smile and laughter is contagious).

Your hands are soft and sweet looking
and your lips are pretty much the same way
(I want to stay with our hands and our lips intertwined).

Other girls don't compare to you because
you're smart and funny and pretty
(the eyes of my heart are blind to everyone but you).

I think you're very sweet and cute and smart and fun and
maybe I sort of like you kind of
(I am madly and hopelessly in love with everything about you).