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Mar 2015
So there is this girl,
I’m in awe of her, and maybe a bit of a bored teenager.
Stunning songs about Lady Bugs about being trapped.
I changed and hide my colors manipulated things to create contrast,
to attempt to build trust, maybe I’m just being mellow dramatic.
I created a nicer self for her. It all happened in a moment.
When you are a blob (human) changing shapes is not very hard.

I finally understand how much happens in a single second.
Endless tourists are taking photos.
People are fighting for their lives in every way imaginable.
A couple is having a fight that may
or may not determine the fate of them.
A singer bows, endless people crossing the street.
Seven billion hearts are beating.
All of this and I have a crush
in one second.

A quiet goddess,
the kind of person who knows how it feels
to feel lost, and hurt but bears the burden,
I hope to god I’m doing her justice.
She is dyslexic so, in turn for
not being able to spell (that’s dead anyway)
she can describe the purest claustrophobia
without even giving a space.
The kind of person who sings stunning sentences
casually and then looks surprised at any awe.

I tell her my feelings in a rather awkward way that I intended to be an
immodest joke after she describes her plan to marry
Jack Wasp-something and
how her phone auto corrects perfection for his name.


She says that she wasn’t ready for boys at that time,
it was probably not her finest poem,
using trite ideas “it’s not you it’s me” and nice
touches like she would have told everyone the same answer,
it got the job done,
was genuine and
a complete pain killer.
I ended up agreeing with her.
“High school relationships always die with. . .”
I have no clue if I agreed because the prospect was too real
or because it really was a quietly brilliant series of words
Sometimes though its nice to play pretend for a while.


It kinda ***** knowing that door is wide open and
nothing lies behind it, at least with the door closed
you can imagine what lies behind it.
Can desperately try to open it, with
grand ideas about what’s there.



Now that her painkillers have worn off
and I have far too much free time
I sit here deeply confused — about what I’m not sure,
I guess I want to play pretend.
Written by
JM McCann  NY
(NY)   
452
 
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