We ate chicken sandwiches, mine
no bun, at a table with an 80's
geometric design on top of two silver
metal legs with our legs
intertwined. I tried
to draw a comic on the wrapper,
but you kept making me laugh
by reenacting the conversation
we had with the lady at the register
who gave us the wrong change,
but using a baby's voice instead.
The boy mopping the floors wished
desperately that we would leave, but
you looked so cute with ketchup
on your lip and I really, really
didn't want you to drop me off.
There was an Adele song
on the radio that we've heard for the second
time, but you sound more like
a forgotten track to a John Hughes film--
a little heavy, a little messed up, a whammy
bar progression with blonde hair
who wore jeans and had a really cool car.
I'd like to kiss you like Molly Ringwald
does Judd Nelson in that movie
we talked the whole way through as it played
on Netflix. I'd like to wear you
like a bad haircut; something no one else
understands but I pull off effortlessly.
You feel effortless to me. So refill
my take-out cup with five different sodas,
make a scene as we leave the restaurant,
my hand laced up in yours, and let me drink
you in as I pretend we aren't driving
back home just yet.
To whoever takes the time to read this:
This is not a poem. I like poems about you though. They usually end with us making fabulous love in the back of that old car. Today it is a letter. A letter on how I never meant to fall in love with you. You even told me at the beginning to not love your broken heart, but I couldn't help myself. I saw the beauty in it. It was a slow love, I promise not all at once. It started with a late night under stars, and ended with me drunk begging you to feel the same way. I just miss you. Maybe that is why I wrote this letter. I was thinking if you read it you would know it was about you. Poems don't identify the subject. You are always my subject. And maybe this letter would bring you back to the return address. You would fall in love me the way I love you now. But then again, this will never be sent to you. You will never know the person at the return address. I am sorry I fell in love with your broken heart, because now our hearts look the same.
I will love you always...
I would happily suffer
because of how much I love you
I will put myself through misery
just so you feel no pain
I would walk on flames
and put them out
so you can walk through
I will drive myself insane
so you can have no part of the blame
I just wanna believe
that you love me
that much too
I am what I am and I cannot be changed. I am my mother’s wish and my father’s mistake. I am what sent him away and coming back for more. Every boy, guy, man always walks out of my life, but still leaves the light on. I am his punching bag. I am his trophy. I am his rock. I am his. And I am yours. I am a puppet under loves direction. I will care for you like no other. I will worry if a meteor hit you and not anyone else. I will trust you time and time again. I am one to fall in love with you in 8 seconds, but take 8 months to get over you. I like fun trips places, but I also like to lay around and watch movies. I am supportive of big life decisions. I am too emotional about the little stuff. But it matters to me. I won’t give you space because we are together now. I want to spend every moment with you because those are my happiest. I will make assumptions and get my hopes up. I will not be good at distance because I hate being alone. I will always tell you how I feel. I will forgive you when you don’t deserve it. I will give 8 second chances when I didn’t get one. I will love you when you don’t love me anymore. I am what I am and how I love you won’t change. I was molded this way. Can you accept who I am?
I wrote one of these a year ago. Both need a little editing, but I love the concept of digging into who you are or how others perceive you.
Maybe my dad killed himself. Maybe I couldn't tell anyone else exactly how. Maybe I called her. Maybe it had been a few months. Maybe I just wanted to talk. Maybe it was 3 am. Maybe I needed her. Maybe I wanted it to be like old times. Maybe I wanted to wish on a shooting star again. maybe I wanted to fix things. Maybe I picked her up. Maybe I wasn't just me in the car. Maybe it was past her curfew.
It's possible a few drinks were involved. It's possible there was more than a few. It's possible when I kissed her I tasted the Jager like it was my own drink. It's possible those white shorts and crop top made me want her more. It's possible I got her alone. It's possible I told her that I still cared. It's possible that I never said it before. It's possible she cried. It's possible I was too drunk to notice. It's possible that someone else did. It's possible I got jealous. It's possible she just wanted to be held. It's possible he was gentle and did.
Perhaps he offered her a ride home. Perhaps she stayed with me. Perhaps she still loved me. Perhaps I yelled about the boy who cared for her. Perhaps she cried again. Perhaps she went home upset. Perhaps he comforted her again. Perhaps he took her to see fireworks. Perhaps he didn't know she hated them. Perhaps I didn't know she would like them. Perhaps she got closer to him. Perhaps they laughed together. Perhaps they spent all night talking about the dreams and goals I already knew. Perhaps she told him to come back the next day.
It's likely she forgot about me. It's likely she found happiness. It's likely he loved her back. It's likely they went places. It's likely he got her cute gifts. It's likely I liked their pictures on Instagram. It's likely I looked at our pictures. It's likely my sweatshirt is tucked away so he cannot see it. It's likely I was lonely. It's likely that I still want her.
Or do I? Maybe on those lonely nights, when I was feeling down, when drinks blurred everything right, perhaps anything could happen.
But then again, maybe possible, perhaps likely, that I never did need her.
You left me that night for her.
You left me alone.
You left me.
I loved you then.
I love you now.
I love you.
wrote off no planning.