because everyone who knows me past my second middle name would tell you that i crash hard and i don’t wear a helmet

it wasn’t so much that you caught me

it was more like i was running sprinting hurdling

and i crashed into you like the world’s lankiest brick wall

but you’re picking up the pieces

i know this is might not be a good thing, but hey, at least you wear a helmet.

you kissed me in the street

before putting on your helmet

earlier you told me that you see too many things to laugh at

and i thought maybe your long legs under the table weren’t such a bad thing

I said darjeeling and masochism,

you said

that sounds like a nice day

Chalkboard

Blindfold

Ripped Jeans

take

off

your

glasses

i think i meant to tell you that i loved you

but instead i told you about a dream i had where you locked me in a room and wouldn’t shut up about your socks.

i think i meant to ask you to kiss me

but instead i asked for a cigarette on your porch even though it was cold out and I wanted to go home.

i think i meant to tell you i trust you

but instead i told you to buy a notebook and fill it with lists so that your mind can work again.

gummy bears and cigarettes

apologies for the time that i’ve spent

falling down your satis to your pit of empathy

because boy, you care far too much for me

far more than i deserve

to temper your acoustic nerve

what if my favorite color was the bruise under your eye?

what if my favorite number was the pace of your smile?

oh oh blank slate boy

the floorboards are cracking and i’m going crazy

your ropes are straining while girls are mistaking

you for anything but a blank slate boy

you’re sewing sleep while i’m sewing valentines

how many hours do you spend chasing he siblime?

oh oh blank slate boy

I don't know why
I keep telling myself
"You and I.", "Us.", "We."
like butterfly wings
are paired, intertwining.
I need to face reality.
Your constantly showing me
That I am uninteresting,
Romantically.

You might not ever know what I think of you
You might not ever love me.
I might not ever be able to hold your skeletal hands
I might not ever be able to call those boney shoulders mine.
This might be another failed and broken cycle.
This might be like every other crush I've had.
I might not ever show my true self to you.
You might not ever like it when I do.
I might have wasted a month of my time.
And you might not ever care.

We walked in and you were groggy
Laying in bed.
I wanted nothing more than to lay with you.
But instead I sat on the floor, pretending to admire the ceiling.

How ironic that you were wearing my favorite shirt of yours
White with blue and orange stripes.
It's the only thing about that evening that went as I had planned.
And even that was short lived.

Hayden felt at home and I felt alone.
Mike was somewhere in between.
I couldn't tell if you were surprised that I was in your room.
Maybe you were too tired to think.

But I wasn't.
So I sat there, next to the poster of Fergie
Pretending to admire the ceiling
Wondering if you'd let me clean the cobwebs in the corner.

It was a beautiful ceiling
Intricate and gold.
I couldn't imagine your room being any other way.
Fergie's *** was rubbing it in my face.

I followed everyone downstairs
they were waiting for a movie
but I was waiting for you.
I was afraid you had gone back to bed

You changed your shirt but didn't bother to fix your hair.
I like white button-ups
but not as much as the stripes.
You have very boney knees but I don't mind.

I wished I could say something clever like I  normally do.
But I just can't when I'm around you.
My thoughts were wasted or already used by someone else.
That was humiliating.

You wanted to drive with us to my house.
But you didn't bother put shoes on.
We held eye contact and it looked like you forgot how to smile.
That was the highlight of my evening.

"This house is beautiful"
was the first thing I said.
Hayden said something like "It's old as hell"
And you both went on to joke about the ghosts that built it.