take my hand.
i can't believe you can't hear it in my heartbeat:
that it's for you
(the beat
beat
beating,
rabbit-fast when you're around and aching when you're not).
take my hand,
because
all i want is for you
to do what you want to do
and hold it.

i'm a feminist
and also i'm a male-ist.
mostly a people-ist.

are theories needed
to know that we're all equal?
let's know it ourselves.

people like you, sir,
agonize my feminist
sensibilities.

and oh, my darling
i heard it in those few words
and i realize now.

you like telling me,
"you're jealous,"
of that boy's girlfriend
(as if i give a **** and a half about him anymore)
and how can i say it?
that i'm not, that i don't,
because of you?
i guess i could
(it would be easier than i think)
and i guess i should
(we're not going to live forever)
and i guess i will.
but for now i'm in agony over the fact that
the price of being my best friend for so long
is that you don't think i can love you.
the way i look at you should be enough
(but it isn't)
the way i hook my finger through yours should be enough
(but it isn't)
the way you make me feel should be enough
(if only you could see it on my face).

what will be enough
is the words
and what i don't have enough of
is the courage.





(the point is
that i'll do it anyway
for you.)