Every time he says the
Misconstrued and fragmented
Phrase "Sok"
I hear your voice.
I hear that little girl voice
You would use when you
Were playful and you
Wanted something from me.
You always knew it would work.

The way he kept looking
At me on Friday;
It was the same look you gave
Me on a different Friday
Because I couldn't help
But feel the love in my eyes
That I'm still unable to describe.
You caught me staring
A little too closely and
Had my heart beating
So quickly.
I blush horribly but
You always seemed to be
Able to make me do it.

I notice how that pretty girl
Across the food court from me
Had hair that was purely
Brown with no highlights
And it was perfectly straight
With no wave to it.
She was only pretty in
The way of conformity then.
She didn't have your
Lighter streaks and her
Hair wasn't a mess.
It didn't look almost gray
Under the lights
Of a football stadium.

I can't write the word gray
Without thinking of you.
The first time I wrote it
In this poem, I wrote it
With an A.
You know I spell it with an E.
Unless I'm thinking of you.
Grey seems a little too
Wrong to write now.

He isn't playful enough.
But only in comparison to you.
She isn't pretty enough.
But only when next to your beauty.
No one has the right set of teeth.
No one has the right color eyes.
No one blushes all the time.
No one has the right hand shape.
No one has the right hair.
No one has the right body.
No one has the right soul.
No one has the right mind.

No one but you.

I told you that you would
Always be in my way
They are all flawed
In every way
Because no one has the same set of
Constellations between their bones
That I can call
Some kind of a home.
It will never be a bad thing.
I'm just strung up on the girl
I love.
Because I do.
I love her.
And nothing you can
Say
Or do
Or lock away
Will stop me from
Giving her my heart.

I'm still holding on.