you are unfazed by anything i do
you say you love me and that my spontaneity is one of the reasons why
because i keep you guessing
you say it's refreshing but you mean it's unpredictable
you say you love me and that i'm endlessly fascinating
you tell me it's because i'm interesting
you say it's intriguing but you mean it's confusing
i have so many precious things to tell you
but you do not care for any of them
you say you love me no matter what i look like
but when you kiss me you look into different eyes
you say you love me

but these are words from a thesaurus
not words from your heart

there are days when my body feels
emptier, compared with the springtime
drained of motivation, lumbering legs
are harder to move, an unfamiliar feeling

i keep gently kicking some stuff up in my mind
remind myself i'll be happy later
if i'm more productive now
which is true, and i will be.

i used to kiss the nectar from the neck
of the one who gushed for me

until one day i had to accept,
does she still gush for me?

i worry about not being fun enough
to hang out with. i worry about my weak
memory. an awkward personality.
trying too hard. i do,
i worry about these things.