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 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?

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 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.

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.

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.

it’s crazy to think
that after all this time
we’ve lost that “another life” connection.
you don’t cry to me anymore
and i don’t try to fix you.
you aren’t the person i go to when i’m sad anymore,
because you don’t listen and give the best advice anymore.
we’re just two people
who used to have something
that i thought was so special.
i’m just the girl you go to for instant gratification
and you’re just the boy i can’t let go of.

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.

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’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.

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 so used
to instant attraction
that i overlooked you
for years.
now i look back
and can’t believe i missed all the signs

for the first time in a month
you almost met my eyes in the hallway.
you almost smiled
i saw it when you turned away.
it’s okay,
i almost smiled too.

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 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.

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 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.

i hope you never give it back-
it’s childish, i know.
but i want to see you
wear my hair tie on your wrist.
i want people to ask you
whose it is
and i want you to tell them.
i want it to be your favorite accidental gift
that you’ve ever received.
so no, you don’t have to give it back.

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 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.

a list of reasons why i can’t stand you

1: you treat me like a child
2: you act like i’m worthless since i’m not in a relationship
3: you pressure me
4: you undermine my problems
5: you use me
6: you make me feel worthless and powerful at the same time
7: you’re an emotional cheater
8: i don’t know how to forget you
9: i think i’ll always want you
10: you’ll never be clear about how you feel/felt  about me.

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 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.

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.

as i look out my window
and see the blue ridge mountains
i am reminded
of a boy
who wanted to live in virginia.

as my parents drive on this curvy interstate,
its him yelling at the cars and eighteen-wheelers,
and it’s me reading in the passenger seat.

as we near the city ,
it’s us taking the metro each day
to jobs in important places.
and taking it back home each night
to our home in virginia
with jam, and coffee, and china cabinets.

here i am
thinking about a boy who wanted to live in virginia.

here i am
wondering what i did wrong,
and how i managed to misunderstand
every little thing.

here i am
regretting wasting over a year
convincing myself that we could be perfect
and beating myself up when we didn’t live up to that expectation.

“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.

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.

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 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.