her name was ever-so-lovely, ever-so-light, ever-so-sweet
and your name was problem child, troublemaker, never-fit-in.
i loved you both--
but not the same.
she was darling of the class, a-student, charming, compassionate, attentive;
you were flawed, pulled out of class, screamed at, split apart, lonely.
she went to dances in beautiful dresses and ceremonies like a little star
and you skipped them all, staying home, quiet, writing-always-writing.
i was stricken by her beauty--scared by it, entranced, could not understand--
and took too long to ever notice yours.
(the first time anyone ever touched her was loving, gentle, planned;
you were barely twelve and your best friend puts fingers in places you didn't fully understand yet. you were always second to her boyfriend, though.)
i trailed after her for two longmiserablelonely years and never found a thing from any of it, any of it.
you, though, you flirted with me in class and touched my shoulder
and so often you'd reach out to my hair and look at me with that look,
love.
she was the first i confessed deep dark secrets to,
but you were the first i made them with.
i miss her sometimes, her radiance, her sunshine, the way she smiled
ever-so-pretty
like a barbie doll almost broken beyond recognition.
you and i fixed each other together,
you, trouble child, problem child, inattentive, daydreamer, not-enough;
me, *******, perfectionist, procrastinator, obsessive, compulsive, not-enough
never-enough-enough-enough.
you are the most brilliant beautiful wonderful person i know.
(and i will never tell you that i loved her first
because i know it would break your heart, angel.)
i'm in love with you, though, uniquely, undeniably, terrifyingly.
(i loved you second but i love you more;
i loved you less instantly but i love you more honestly, more sincerely--
and you too love me in return.)
the only problem you've ever been for me
is me wondering how i ever got lucky enough to hold you in my arms.
