I first fell
in love
on my head
with a boy who
was not
ready yet
(That's my type.)
and I left,
and I left
words unsaid
and I reddened
the face
of the boy
in my bed
for a boy who
was greedy,
could tell I
was needy,
could help stop
the bleed, but
was not
ready yet.
next was the boy
that I won
(No one won.)
he's the boy
who said "likewise"
and smiled
like the sun.
like a vision,
my dreams,
beautiful
make-believe,
so it was
and would be
about every
six weeks.
then, oh,
was the guy
who would hold me
real late
while we watched
pbs
and we tried
not to date
but he loved me,
we did,
and he made
me feel pretty
on my period
(he would move
and get married.
we’re happy
for him.)
in between
was the guy
who lived
inside my brain;
we drove ourselves
mad
and each other
insane.
I don't know
where his
band's playing
or how to spell
his kid's name
(Yes I do.
And he's cute.
I don't know
what I'm saying.)
next and last
but not least
was a boy
I would meet,
young and blonde
and could sing
and so
in love with me.
he wrote songs,
melodies,
composed small
symphonies—
but what I thought
of him
he did not think
of me.
it's been lovely
but lonely
when those
who would hold me
have told me
they loved me
but not
really known me.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
I first fell
in love
on my head
with a boy who
was not
ready yet
(That's my type.)
and I left,
and I left
words unsaid
and I reddened
the face
of the boy
in my bed
for a boy who
was greedy,
could tell I
was needy,
could help stop
the bleed, but
was not
ready yet.
next was the boy
that I won
(No one won.)
he's the boy
who said "likewise"
and smiled
like the sun.
like a vision,
my dreams,
beautiful
make-believe,
so it was
and would be
about every
six weeks.
then, oh,
was the guy
who would hold me
real late
while we watched
pbs
and we tried
not to date
but he loved me,
we did,
and he made
me feel pretty
on my period
(he would move
and get married.
we’re happy
for him.)
in between
was the guy
who lived
inside my brain;
we drove ourselves
mad
and each other
insane.
I don't know
where his
band's playing
or how to spell
his kid's name
(Yes I do.
And he's cute.
I don't know
what I'm saying.)
next and last
but not least
was a boy
I would meet,
young and blonde
and could sing
and so
in love with me.
he wrote songs,
melodies,
composed small
symphonies—
but what I thought
of him
he did not think
of me.
it's been lovely
but lonely
when those
who would hold me
have told me
they loved me
but not
really known me.
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