Mar 2013
Why don’t you like me?
WHY?
You liked me before, you liked me soo much I could tell by the way you looked at me with this big puppy dog brown eyes, they almost looked wet, tearing, as if your love and affection was so full it was about to spill forth all over me.
But now you don’t look at me. Well, you do but you don’t. You look at me but you don’t see me, you don’t see the me you loved a few months ago.
Now your all coooooooool
Yeah?
What was that?
Whatever
Huh?
Whatsup?
I’m kind of busy
(But)
I gotta go
(B-)
I’ll talk to you later
(Oh)
But then you never do talk to me later.
What happened? Did I change?
Am I not quite as pretty, not quite as thin, not quite as perfect as I was before? Suddenly my nose looks a lot stranger and my stretch marks seem a lot uglier and my stomach seems a lot puffier and my ***** seem a lot smaller. My eyes seem crooked and my smile seems forced and I suddenly don’t feel as lovely as I felt when you looked at me and saw me like you did before
Like someone swapped my mirror to show me a new me but the problem is I can’t tell which one is real.
I can’t see which one you see. Or maybe
I just couldn’t be
The me
You see
Or saw, whatever. I’m not sure. Did I fall from the pretty perfect pristine pedestal you perched me on top of so long ago?
Or perhaps you grew bored of watching me way up THEEEEEEERE from way down here. You watched my perfect porcelain smiling teeth collect dust like long forgotten picture frames holding memories of long gone friends, blending into the furniture. So you left me to rust away with age and neglect until I eventually disappeared completely beneath the building grime of what could have been.
But WHY?
Is there someone else? Someone more beautiful, more contemporary, more “new and now” and less “last year”. Is she more intelligent, more poetic, more interesting with better stories better sentences better hip bones. She’s less flashy less fleshy less feisty but still frisky. She stands out but she isn’t loud, is polite but not shy and she always chews with her mouth closed.
I know I’m not being fair.
I could’ve been yours. If I had decided to give you the time of day, a hand on your face or a kiss on your palm I would’ve in an instant been snatched into your loving tan muscley embrace, you would’ve given me all your attention had I ever mentioned that maybe I wanted it. And even so for so long in your eyes I was yours and you held me so close to the soothing steady beat of love in your heart that for a second I thought that you were mine.
But you never were, I never gave you those extra minutes on my clock, I never got past my fluttering upset unsure stomach to lean in to kiss that beating heart.
And now you never will be.
At night I lay awake staring at the clock, cursing it, screaming at it, pounding it against the wall hoping that with sheer will I could somehow make it stop. How could you let my precious moments and opportunities and letters I never sent sift right through my fingertips like sand, how could you let this happen? This. Time. How could you let us meet in such a way that on this linear plane we would only grow toward each other infinitivally but never actually touch, feel your nervous breath so close to my face but never taste it, only see you for a moment before you go right past me to a somewhere so far away from here.
It’s just not fair.
But it is fair, you were never mine to have.
And now suddenly my ears get hot whenever I think of you, my palms get sweaty when you smile at me, like I’m some pathetic love drunk hormonal 14-year-old girl desperately scribbling our names together in notebooks. It’s embarrassing, it’s awful, it’s almost comedic. Let’s make her want him as soon as he closes his door. Like he had opened his home to me for so long and waited as I stood there unsure and unmoving for months until he decided I probably don’t want to come in, and its getting cold in the kitchen. As the door slammed in my face I lifted up my hand like wait a second, I’m actually a little cold out here, and I liked watching you smile at me.
Do I really like you or am I just chasing a sunset because I’m afraid of a lonely night?
WHY?
You liked me before, you liked me soo much I could tell by the way you looked at me with this big puppy dog brown eyes, they almost looked wet, tearing, as if your love and affection was so full it was about to spill forth all over me.
But now you don’t look at me. Well, you do but you don’t. You look at me but you don’t see me, you don’t see the me you loved a few months ago.
Now your all coooooooool
Yeah?
What was that?
Whatever
Huh?
Whatsup?
I’m kind of busy
(But)
I gotta go
(B-)
I’ll talk to you later
(Oh)
But then you never do talk to me later.
What happened? Did I change?
Am I not quite as pretty, not quite as thin, not quite as perfect as I was before? Suddenly my nose looks a lot stranger and my stretch marks seem a lot uglier and my stomach seems a lot puffier and my ***** seem a lot smaller. My eyes seem crooked and my smile seems forced and I suddenly don’t feel as lovely as I felt when you looked at me and saw me like you did before
Like someone swapped my mirror to show me a new me but the problem is I can’t tell which one is real.
I can’t see which one you see. Or maybe
I just couldn’t be
The me
You see
Or saw, whatever. I’m not sure. Did I fall from the pretty perfect pristine pedestal you perched me on top of so long ago?
Or perhaps you grew bored of watching me way up THEEEEEEERE from way down here. You watched my perfect porcelain smiling teeth collect dust like long forgotten picture frames holding memories of long gone friends, blending into the furniture. So you left me to rust away with age and neglect until I eventually disappeared completely beneath the building grime of what could have been.
But WHY?
Is there someone else? Someone more beautiful, more contemporary, more “new and now” and less “last year”. Is she more intelligent, more poetic, more interesting with better stories better sentences better hip bones. She’s less flashy less fleshy less feisty but still frisky. She stands out but she isn’t loud, is polite but not shy and she always chews with her mouth closed.
I know I’m not being fair.
I could’ve been yours. If I had decided to give you the time of day, a hand on your face or a kiss on your palm I would’ve in an instant been snatched into your loving tan muscley embrace, you would’ve given me all your attention had I ever mentioned that maybe I wanted it. And even so for so long in your eyes I was yours and you held me so close to the soothing steady beat of love in your heart that for a second I thought that you were mine.
But you never were, I never gave you those extra minutes on my clock, I never got past my fluttering upset unsure stomach to lean in to kiss that beating heart.
And now you never will be.
At night I lay awake staring at the clock, cursing it, screaming at it, pounding it against the wall hoping that with sheer will I could somehow make it stop. How could you let my precious moments and opportunities and letters I never sent sift right through my fingertips like sand, how could you let this happen? This. Time. How could you let us meet in such a way that on this linear plane we would only grow toward each other infinitivally but never actually touch, feel your nervous breath so close to my face but never taste it, only see you for a moment before you go right past me to a somewhere so far away from here.
It’s just not fair.
But it is fair, you were never mine to have.
And now suddenly my ears get hot whenever I think of you, my palms get sweaty when you smile at me, like I’m some pathetic love drunk hormonal 14-year-old girl desperately scribbling our names together in notebooks. It’s embarrassing, it’s awful, it’s almost comedic. Let’s make her want him as soon as he closes his door. Like he had opened his home to me for so long and waited as I stood there unsure and unmoving for months until he decided I probably don’t want to come in, and its getting cold in the kitchen. As the door slammed in my face I lifted up my hand like wait a second, I’m actually a little cold out here, and I liked watching you smile at me.
Do I really like you or am I just chasing a sunset because I’m afraid of a lonely night?
