Find myself, find myself- trying to find something to write about;
the words arrive as if they owe me a debt for the reflections
I’ve already invested. If you could loan me a few phrases,
to bank on crafting something that’s truly worth your time.
We shared a moment, you pouring out your thoughts while
I absorbed every word, my voice trapped in a writer’s block.
Kissing by that corner, parked in my feelings- we took a neutral
agreement that our first kiss would remain a secret between us.
But we had shifting ideas; you preferred discretion, while I
yearned to shout from the rooftops about finally kissing a girl.
But I… had this imagination of being able to read your mind
by your eyes spelling of tears- each time you cried out what
your first relationship should be. But could it be just me,
thinking that you were hinting at something, when you
spoke those words, to maybe pass a hint at me?
And I’m like a folding chair for the memory of you, sitting
on my mind- folding into myself; collapsing inward, delicate
as paper ready to be transformed into paper planes- the again,
I was just a guy flying around your head.
A fly by night crush.
