You wrote about piano keys and how you wanted to dance.
Is it really what you want though?
I thought maybe I could give you those things,
But I will never be the great pianist
Or the beautiful ballerina on stage.
I will just be the quiet girl in your writing class.
If that isn't good enough, I understand.
The average girl is nothing compared to her with beauty and talent.
Wrote off a whim. #motivation
Please don’t call me beautiful
when your hands are between my legs,
and god forbid you say it as a seg-way
between you’re so hot
and my caution, your response
you’re sure you don’t want to?
I’m pretty sure the way my body looks,
nineteen and stress-infused with an Oreo belly
isn’t really what you pictured beneath my blouse,
and I’m positive you didn’t listen
to the story about my dad and the bad prom dress
because you cared. It was just sentiment. You said it was beautiful,
but really you wanted me to believe the act
like a description in the Playbill
and ride that trust all the way until the curtain dropped.
Please don’t call me beautiful
when the word ******* is before it
or if we are ******* because making love
is for married couples and you don’t even want me
sticking around for the ****** sunrise that peers
underneath your shade every morning.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m crying—
crack me open and watch the colors bleed
like a painting that hasn’t dried. Admire
the light that peaks through the clear parts
like a windowpane, no blinds.
Tell me I’m beautiful when I’m laughing,
when I’m reading my favorite part of a book,
when I’m stuffing my face with peanut-butter
pretzel bites and I haven’t washed my sheets in weeks,
and I’ll know you can’t be lying
because I’ve listened to the waves your heart makes
when you’re sleeping and I’ve called your smile
to the surface many times when you’ve tried
to deflect it back inside. You’ll know that
and you’ll know I’m beautiful.
Call me beautiful
when you’re not even trying.
Call me beautiful when you’re by yourself
and the smell of my hair is still on your pillow,
or the memory of how dumb I sounded
singing my favorite song breaks your heart back
to the best little pieces.
Try to understand.
2 years ago sounds too short,
But if I counted every minute since that day would be too long.
I have counted the days.
I woke up in an all white room with tubes and wires coming from me.
A lot happened up to that moment,
A lot changed after that moment too.
But today is day 730 and I know I will get to 731.
I don't know what it was, but that night I fell in love with her. I didn't prepare for this. The way she danced under the cheap Christmas lights holding her cup. The way she said my name in my ear. The way I could taste Jager on her lips. The way she laid in my bed. I don't know what it was, but that night I fell in love with her.
I met you exactly one year ago. I was just a shy girl in a haunted house. Our friends didn't introduce us, you weren't my type. From that moment I wanted to know more, but I didn't even know you. And now looking back you cannot deny that you felt the same way one year ago today.
Stupid haunted house. I wish now I didn't go. It would have saved so much heatbreak.
I told you I would not write a sappy love poem for you.
I will not write about your hair,
The lightly golden pieces that sometimes fall into your eyes.
I will not write about your words,
The way they always make me laugh.
I will not write about your body,
The muscular cut under moonlight that takes my breath away.
And I promise I will not tell a soul.
I won't say it was past curfew,
And that you forgot the key in.
I will keep all of you a secret.
But most of all I won't write a sappy love poem to you.
I just wrote this without touching it up. Not sure how I feel about it...