I remember shiny lip gloss
And full lips
The first day I met you.
I thought that someone with such a pretty mouth
Would never be friends with someone like me.
But you took a photo of the two of us
On your Kodak digital camera.
Somehow, I was friends with
A girl with a beautiful mouth and pale eyes.

You used to tug the skin on your neck
While you cleared your throat.
Dad said it was a nervous habit.
What were you nervous about?

I decided you were in love with me
Because you stuttered
When we had a reading activity together
In fourth period.

I said I didn’t like you when I first met you,
Because I didn’t trust the way you moved your hands.
(Your fingers moved too gently and beautifully.)
But one day, when I had to play softball in P.E.,
I kept striking out.
You showed me, with your hands,
How to hold the bat.
Your hands guided mine and showed me what to do.
After that, how could I hate your hands?

how do you know (when a broken human can be fixed)


https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2644586/how-do-you-know-when-a-human-is-too-broken/

supermarket checkout line, so lazy broken down dressed,
I’m probably arrestible for disturbing the peace,
my haired piled, and held together by a broken clip,
makeup at home in
a drawer labeled ‘why bother’
my t shirt, don’t please look too closely,
yesterday’s coffee spillage outline
only mostly gone,
and the skinny jeans that felt inappropriate
ten pounds ago,
now looking semi-completely ridiculous

is this a tv show?
wallet, a twenty and a single,
who knew a pound of ground blue mountain
cost the better part of the the twenty
in that case no need for a gallon of milk
and *** a box of chocolate frosted donuts
silently slid far far away,
evidence of a guilty plea of irresponsibility resignation

short $2.42 (cut up the credit cards)
and no convenient pit to fall into
when the teenager cashier snickers,
when a sam elliot voice says here ya are,
stammering a no, a thank you, and thinking getaway direction

truck safely, made it,
knock on the window
sam elliot soundalike is a lookalike as well
standing outside with my wallet in hand,
two heads taller than my ex-petite figurine

more stammering ******* could I look any stupider

but inside a piece of brown shopping bag torn
with ten whole digits
I’ve never seen prior to this disaster
saying call when you want to return my $2.42

turns out he got, no, he is glue and paste,
an eraser man for fine lines and sad times,
and a lasso to keep me held together,
a pocket red handkerchief hanging half out
of his back pocket, never without, calls it his tear catcher

pulled out that too tight blues-blouse
from back of my closet
that still complements my complexion,
wear it ever time that day rolls around

just dumb luck ain’t much of an answer
so I’ll rephrase, dumb luck is in the everything
cause his number was 917-242-2424
and he is a gambler in matters of the heart

bust his ***** when he says he’s a lucky man,
reply he ain’t got no luck at all
compared to me on that daft day

and every daft day thereafter
I glue his lips shut to mine, no escaping,
and paste a new $2.42
into his wallet
when he is sleeping mine,
no erasing our lines,
just redrawing them deeper and finer,
just making sure my
dumb luck is working overtime

We used to sit in the sun
on an old mattress behind the church house.
We talked about our families,
and about our Sunday school lessons.
Sometimes we told jokes our Sunday school teachers
would not have approved of.
But when our other friends found us,
I pretended that I never laughed at our jokes,
even though I had.

I decided I was in love with you
because you told me it was okay
that I struck out every time in baseball,
and because you didn't pick me last
when you were team captain.
But why was that all it took
for me to declare my love for a boy?