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.

people that actually listen to what you say are really important.
the ones who remember the little things,
like your favorite Bible verse
or the fact that you write poetry every night.
they'll never forget your birthday,
or where you want to travel one day.
they hear you.
they know you.

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.

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 used to be filled
with swarms of tickling butterflies-
a nervous, nauseous feeling that accompanied me everywhere i went,
along with the intense feeling that one of you might be somewhere up ahead.
now all i feel
is the autonomous cycle of my breath
and my pulse,
no longer too fast.

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 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.

what makes you so special;
that i sit and write poems for you every night?
what makes you so perfect;
that no one bothers to ask you what’s wrong?
what makes you so beautiful;
that i loved you before i knew you, and as i knew you, and after i knew you?

i feel so helpless
like i’m drowning in a lake
trying to call out for help
but making no sound.
i’m waiting for you to save me
instead of learning how to swim.

i could fall for my best friend.
our blushing cheeks and smiles
could be mistaken for something more
than the response to a joke
and i could fall for him.

i could flirt with him
and he could take me seriously
instead of laughing it off
as he does with everyone else.
we could talk
and i could flirt.

i could smile
and laugh
and flirt
and fall.
why not?

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’m falling for the little things about you
like the freckle on your right ear
or the way you fiddle with the emergency brake when there’s nothing to talk about.
i like the way you turn completely sideways in your seat to tell a story,
daring me to maintain eye contact from the passenger side.
i like the hat with your dad’s company’s name on it
and your patagonia pullover that you always wear.
i like that you bring a cup of coffee to school everyday
but make fun of me for drinking tea out of fancy teacups;
it seems as if i could like every little thing about you...

you can tell a lot about a guy by what kind of music he turns on when you’re in the car.

there was the guy whose bass blew out my eardrums
who texted the entire way there.

there was the sweet guy who cued up his rap playlist but turned it down a couple notches so he could hear what i had to say.

but my favorite to ride with was the guy who turned the random radio station down and talked to me for thirty minutes about life and the future.
i still don’t know what song was playing.

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’m starting to finally realize
that you aren’t at all right for me.
It’s taken me almost an entire year
and a lot of sleepless nights
of crying and talking and staring at the ceiling,
and I don’t know if I’ll ever completely be able to stop wanting you in my life,
but it’s worth a shot.
Maybe I’ll let you go
instead of living a life that revolves around
a boy who decides day by day if i’m worth his time.

you tell me not to plan my future
that i shouldn’t stress myself out over something i can’t control.
you tell me to make my own decisions
instead of trying to please everyone.
you provide much needed reality checks
when my dreams become too wild
or my fears too large.
i am so thankful you’re in my life.

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.

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

The Notre Dame is burning,
and no one understands why I’m upset.
No, I’ve never seen it in person,
never been inside to admire its beauty,
but it’s been in me.
For years,
Paris has been this image of perfection,
of dreams coming true,
of life being fulfilled,
and now,
the Notre Dame is burning,
and I can’t stop crying
over a place I’ll never go.

“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.

you asked me who these poems were about
and i didn’t have the heart to tell you
that almost every word
i’ve ever written
has been for you.
all for you.

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.

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.

you said you’d like to live in virginia.
oh, how i could see us
among the old buildings and tulip trees,
driving down to savannah, georgia for spring break
to see the spanish moss
and the gorgeous houses that you told me looked like they were all squished together,
or up to boone, north carolina,
where i swear it’s fifty degrees year-round

wherever i end up
i hope you’re there too.

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.

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’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.

i feel the most like myself
when i’m with you.
i could tell you anything
and you’d just lean your head on the steering wheel and laugh.
i want someone like you for the rest of my life:
someone that says funny things because i look like i need to laugh,
someone that listens to me ramble for hours on end and seems genuinely interested,
someone that waits for me on the sidewalk.

i think someone like you could be my forever.

i think i might have finally gotten it right.
my breathing is steady,
my smile is wide,
and my worries dissipate
more and more
day by day.

I was finally starting to rid myself of you
and your persuasion,
your crooked smile
and nice guy demeanor
that left me to your will,
but then you came along and asked a simple question
one that showed you might just be thinking about me.
so here I am writing poetry about you instead of deleting your number.