Last night at a party I had five shots
And five revelations along with them
Thank you, tiny sweet shot glass for
Burning away inhibitions.
Burning hot,  liquescent cinnamon
Goes straight to my knees and my phone
As I sat on the kitchen counter, texting,
And I had some things to say that
         I never dared to before.
One: Like how when I thought that
you wanted me, I was an apparition
that had been trying to break the veil
between two worlds, to no avail
and you with your kind eyes
          resurrected me.  
Two: That I’ve never been noticed by a
good man. Nor have I noticed any.
You were sugar and spice, but
telling someone that you miss
them and then never fulfilling
the sweet promise of someday,
         isn’t very nice at all.
Three: The first time you told me I was beautiful
I couldn’t believe you. Because I always believed
that complements were gifts men gave
to women to remind us that we are only our
bodies. And as a girl who is most comfortable
when she retreats deep within the recesses
of her imagination I find this troubling.
Besides what good is beauty when it only
          serves to make sweeter my fire.
Four: the second and third and fourth time you
called me beautiful I believe you meant it .
Because you offered up those treats without
demanding payment and I thought that’s what
respect was, what longing was. And it felt good to
be wanted for more than my body but still...
I felt the heavier meaning your words
And your eyes spoke in sonnets
And the more you said it the more I needed
to hear it.I had never needed to hear it before you.
But your insistence that I am beautiful
made me want you and for the first time
               I let myself want.
Five: I hate that if you called me right now
I would go to you, in a heartbeat.
I hate that you inspire poetry so cliche.
That everything I  feel about you
is as the Sun rises each day:
Spectacular yet under appreciated.
I hate that I make excuses for you.
That I understand how you could
forget about me, change your mind
about me. I hate that I don’t think
you did anything wrong. I hate that I
should hate you but I can’t press send
because I’m still hoping that you will
come back to me, like how
the Sun longs to share the sky
                      with the Moon
I took your words like a shot of whiskey,
nervous at first and then all at once.
They tasted like heaven, and burned like hell,
a confusion of syrupy sweet nothings (nothing
because that's all we ever were) and the sting
of your silence when you left town. When I
first saw you I wrote a poem about how
I didn't know your name and I  was not brave
enough to ask. I knew you were going to be
important but I didn’t know then that
       the afterthought of you would
                                burn so much.