i have one friend
who i can sit and talk to for hours
about politics and
feminism
and Christianity.

i have another
who makes us all question everything.
he always asks “why?”
he has an ability to form an opinion so different from what is “normal.”

i also have a friend
who sings so loudly
even though he doesn’t sound the best...
he is a leader among us,
and he shoots free throws with me in the gym after church.

i have one more friend
who i’ve known for a very long time
and who is so goofy.
he’s always doing something funny
and he’s one of the most loyal people i’ve ever met.

one i know i’ll be friends with forever,
another i’ll probably consult every so often if i have an important deep question.
another who is looking at the basketball team of the school who’s journalism program i love,
and my family will always be connected to the other one’s.
it worries me to think about the future;
i’m living so strongly in the now.

the fact that
you were starting to like me
and i was starting to like you
and people were telling you i was a terrible person
and that you should like someone else,
makes me want to go back in time and tell you how i felt.
we could have had something
if only we had known about the other’s feelings
and you hadn’t listened to my supposed friends.

i want to learn
how to love myself
instead of wasting time
loving boys who will never love me back.
maybe i should take a break from them:
the young men who make my heart flutter and sink all in the range of a 5 minute conversation
and focus on what really matters.
i should worry less about giving love to so many others
and worry more about giving it to myself.

a short, exasperated little thing slams her locker and scurries around the corner
practically slamming into a telephone pole of a guy.
he smiles, says her name, and asks if she was trying to run him over
and it takes her a few seconds for the wheels of her brain to slow down enough to respond;
an awkward laugh and an eye roll
and a sarcastic “yeah” that is shouted as he’s still walking the other direction.
the wheels start up again and her little legs move even faster to make up for lost time.

i’m starting to notice all your flaws.
you touch people too often in conversation,
and the right side of your mouth turns up when you talk.
you’re so awkward when you play basketball
and your voice is weird.
it’s got a country quality to it
and if you listen hard enough
you can hear the lisp on your s’s.
you’re not near as perfect as i once thought you were.
i don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

your ability to persevere
through the sweat
pain
and pure exertion
fascinates me.
you’re a different person on that court;
it’s almost magical.
you said it yourself
that everything in your life goes away
and it’s just you and the sport.
i wish i had something like that,
something to help me forget the struggles of daily life
in the same way it helps you forget
homework, girlfriends, and anything deeper that may be bothering you that day.
oh, to be the basketball star.

i wonder what would happen if you broke up with her
and i had the chance to go after you.
would i still smile at you every time i saw you in the hallway?
would i still wait for you to say hi and then act like i wasn’t expecting it?
i hate to say it
but i think i’d go back to treating you like a friend;
the butterflies would leave
with the fear that she might find out i had feelings for you.
maybe i don’t want you,
i just like the idea of something i can’t have.

you use me;
string me along
like you have for years.
you whisper in my ear
just as i'm forgetting you,
tap my shoulder
as i'm walking away,
and i always whisper back,
turn around,
look at that smile,
and i'm doomed.

the day after we met
i told you
that i thought God put you in my life
to help me,
and you said you felt like we understood each other.
how did we form such a deep connection
having never seen each other in person,
and having only known each other for less than 24 hours?
that’s the kind of stuff that keeps me up at night.

i had a dream about seeing you this weekend
followed by a dream in which i was in a car accident.
i feel like that’s trying to tell me something.

i hate this stream of consciousness style
like nothing i write
has meter
rhythm
or rhyme.
it’s just my thoughts on paper
all jumbled up;
not even i can make sense of it.

i’m tired of spending every waking hour thinking about you
i’m tired of consoling you when you’re sad
and i’m tired of thinking that just because we connected so fast on such a deep level we’re soulmates that just haven’t had our time yet.
i’m starting to think that it’s never going to be our time,
and surprisingly i’m okay with that.

you walked up to me
and we greeted each other with the stupid “classic white people” half smile
like we always do
and you said hey
and that we have our leadership thing this wednesday.
we talked about your eye surgery
and how i didn’t have time to eat dinner that night;
nonchalant little small-talk
that i normally would hate,
but with you it felt like the most intellectual conversation of my life.
standing there
you in that tux
and me in my ballgown
it felt normal,
like this was something we did everyday.
reality hit hard when you said goodbye
to go find the girl you came with.

the last time i got a manicure
was the day i met you.
you helped me pick out the color,
a coral pink gel that i hated until you said it looked nice.
the longest we went without talking that day was the 5 minutes it took my nails to dry.
the manicure wore off after 2 weeks
but the crush certainly didn’t.

why do you still worship her,
when all she did was leave you broken?
you deserve better than this.

-to the guy in love with his ex

maybe one day
our winding paths will cross
in one open patch of green grass,
and we’ll stay there,
away from the chaos;
and the people who tell us
what to do
and who to be,
they’ll all be lost in the woods.

i’m in this really weird place in my life
like i have so much love to give
and no one to give it to.
part of me thinks,
maybe the boy God gave you to help with life and love and to heal your soul,
or maybe the boy He sent to be a match of wits,
or the one who smiles at you in the hallway and makes your eyes light up every morning
or the countless other boys God sent you to prove that he is in control;
but then i realize
one will always need me,
as someone to council and advise him.
another will pretend i’m just another acquaintance, which i guess is true.
and the other, well i’m not sure
we’ll find out once he and his girlfriend break up.

you made fun of the way i talk,
like it somehow alienated me.

words like “uppity” and “hoity toity”
that i was using to describe your friends.

“i’d love to read your essays...uppity.”

at that point i hadn’t realized that you were just as well off as they were
and here i was talking about how they made me feel like i didn’t belong,
just because my father didn’t own a boat or a summer house.

it was actually quite funny
i always thought you were like me,
a fake.
a middle class citizen playing pretend.

“i wouldn’t date him.”
“me neither.”
they all look at me and raise their eyebrows.
i stand firm in my answer.
i wouldn’t date you;
i’d marry you.

i can't tell
if i'm taking everything you say to me
and twisting it to fit my narrative
or if i might actually have a chance.
maybe i should invest in a few grains of salt.

if i had to say
who i’ve filled the most pages for
it wouldn’t be the boy
with the hazel eyes
who will probably never realize how i feel;
or the boy with money
who barely remembers my name;
or even the boy who’s with my best friend.
no, if i really counted,
i’ve written the most about a blue-eyed boy with a lisp and a broken heart, who i’ve only ever truly met once.

i sit for hours
trying to write something beautiful
and worthy of the world,
but all that comes from my heart
are nonsense poems about you.

you're like smooth jazz,
a piano rolling out notes
as Louis's trumpet dances.

like sweet coffee,
swirled with cream and sugar,
warm to the touch

a quiet walk in the park
preceding a picnic on the lush grass.

soft comforts in a loud world.

i've seen your smile in my fathers face as i twirled around in a sea of pink chiffon.
i've looked into that sparkle in your eyes everytime my mother sang me to sleep.
i've heard our witty banter,
when my grandparents bicker on the way to church.
you've told me you're proud of me,
as my family smiles after my first performance.
you've helped me through so much,
everytime i sought help from my best friend.
we may have just met,
but i've known you for years

i hope one day
i can look back
at all the boys i chased,
see them,
happy with the lives they've made;
see myself,
and know i've moved on.

i'm a flower;
you fall for the petals,
and the captivating scent.
you uproot me,
crush the stem,
forget to water me,
and wonder why i wilt.

i don't like the way you treat me,
like i'm just a puzzle,
for you to take out when you're bored
and attempt to put together.
the pieces don't fit,
but you always try and force them to.
just because she won't let you solve her,
doesn't mean i will.
i don't belong to you
and i never will.