nobody taught me how to lie.
-sat down with me, and told me
in steps, showed me to walk up a staircase,
and hide in a glass walkway.

but people gave me their hands to hold,
a crying child,
and beat me when i took those hands.
my parents brought me home and told me to bat those hands away.

i learned how to lie, when people measured me
as if i was no more than a number on a wooden ruler,
lower than their own.
today, i know i’m not.

i learned to lie, when it all became too hard to bear,
all those late nights and broken pencils
tears shed everyday, yet you doubted me.
it was real.

my best lie was taught to me by a beautiful woman
-loving her was a secret, as was loving her and her and her,
because the very people who brought me home,
pulled me away from those rulers,
told me i was wonderful,
never doubted those tears as they were wiped away
would be the ones
who could rip my heart.

when life taught me that the truth
laying yourself out
-when it really matters,
rips you apart
you learn to lie.

when life gives you a secret worse than all else,
you see the consequences words can have
-you see that you are a sinner
you learn to lie,
and you wonder if you are a lie yourself.

have you ever danced in the sunset?
twirling in drenched gold evenings,
trailing rays of light like the skirts of a southern lehenga
bright gold, twirling kissed fingers allowing the sun
to smear your face, muddle your features.

have you ever drowned in the sunset?
did you hear me? turned it up?
/did you hear me/
spun under the sun rays,
kicked the beaten stereo until it played music-
such sun songs, bright and bold
singing under palm trees and crumbling homes?

have you ever played in the sunset?
like piano keys and fingers gently folded
by rays dancing through a windowsill
fading into rich floor, turning it worn
alone in the breeze, windows open
with friends, hearts closed
sun mottling pages?

have you ever loved in the sunset?
it all seems possible,
when your faces blur in the sky and then
darken, inevitably
it all seems natural
when you’re under the fires of heaven
who’ve dappled your body,
are waiting to flow through your veins.

the dreams fall from the sky,
into the children’s hands
a small child reaches her open and filthy palms to the sky,
a girl sets aside her books,
cradles a spider web of rain droplets
tucking in her heart,
the deepest corners of her brain, they’re one in the same.

love is so good when love is young
she knows this herself,
a sweet taste so different to the fires she knew
snatched away from her by her own hands
her own hands -broken as a scholar’s, as a child’s,
but never as the youth
never broken as a youth.

she breathes life into her spiderweb,
wrapped around her back
lacing itself around her
up her neck and behind her eyes
with each stroke of her pencil
each late night
each missed night
she sets her web free and begins to climb it as it grows inside her.

all her laughs,
shared with her spiders,
are we spiders or are we girls?
making our own webs, climbing them
-we look like girls
we look like girls as we wield our weapons,
watch our love die.
we are red widows,
hands dripping with blood.

a girl sits on the pavement,
lunch in hand
wondering what kind of times they were
-neither the best nor the worst of times,
but times spent at a coffee shop
watching the cars go by.

as the rain falls
-as it always falls at 2 am,
steady and calming
a world in limbo
despite all of the chaos that i so lovingly
call mine.

the birds aren’t out yet,
but the cars softly flash their lights
i shouldn’t be here
this desolate city,
mine,
this desolate life,
mine.

the plants sway softly,
ever their vibrant green and your cat meows
-the only thing along with your short hair
and scrolling habits
and off-feelings
you’ve been able to keep alive this winter.

lone figures in the winter,
at your desks -alone in class
smiling at a laptop,
the papers on your bedroom floor flutter around you
wind in my rooms,
slashes on the push floor.

slashes -also on the peaches
nectarines
fingertips (from falls)
coffee cups in empty cafes
and unthinkably
blueberries.

all of our photographs,
a poet said they would happen,
waiting to happen,
i think they’re right and
they’ll never happen
-it’s the kind of beauty arranged and taken down,
never enjoyed.

long ago there was a beautiful girl by the sea,
and she told me that if
we can find love,
and that is all we can hope for.

she took my hand, and led me
down to the coves, to a woman,
who rested her hands on the rocks,
where the sea met the cave.

she whispered to me in the summer breeze,
as my linens rocked on the lines,
she led me across the sand
away from home.

when the skies grew dark,
she carried me home
across the grey waves,
she sang with the voice of storm rains.

as the stars came out,
she pulled herself onto the rocks beside me
and we lit lanterns
in the warm summer night.

i remember her as the winter sky
envelops the horizon,
as i gather my bags,
walk away from the caves we called home.

no longer does her voice sing in the coves,
nor am i allowed to become lost
in her teasing eyes,
let her voice lul me across the world.

all i have of her is a distant memory,
an echo of the voice that drives me mad,
the sounds of the water lapping lazily at the sand,
the smell of a warm summer breeze.

a soft touch -sand on my feet,
linens brushing my skin
rough rock under my legs,
and the ocean far below my cove.

what chance does the rain have,
of fixing a broken heart?

i told you once that i didn’t love you,
on a cold morning,
as raindrops fell from the swollen clouds.

so similar to the rain on a day,
when drumbeats sounded from the canvas of stars,
and our faces turned to watch the heavens open up,
phantom hands grasping each others.

i lay alone under the clouds,
listen to the afterworld pour it’s sorrows,
sliding down my bedroom windows
remembering a night you held me close
and i couldn’t breathe.

i told you that you’d hold me,
that day
forevermore
and you held me, and held me,
until i felt like i was on fire,
so i set myself in stone.

as the stone cracks,
i feel the rain on my face again,
and i long to hold your hand
watch the god’s home above
as they shed tears for us,
this small world
under storms of fires and drums.

lip-gloss smiles,
cracked, glassy and clear,
smiled from meadows while imagining-
imagine white summer linens,
dark denim shorts and wind-whipped hair,
short and sweet.

long silver chains, shining shells,
music lining up with a girl’s heartbeat,
who desperately wishes for once
that it was warm
and the stars opened their hearts,
and indie bands played at festivals in lavender fields.

ignore the fact that we’re all alone,
trying to brush off the pain,
shedding tears of contrition,
because we gave up lip-gloss kisses long ago,
along with the hand that ran through our short hair.

pretend you’re alone,
but on a skiff,
with bright white sails,
wearing windy linens,
eating soft ice-creams,
waving to the fishermen off the island.

really, you’re alone,
alone alone,
missing the feeling of intertwined hands,
a creaky old swing-set, swinging
in the prairie winds.

it’s new year’s eve,
let’s set the house on fire,
a respite from the fireworks,
the cheer and sweet kisses,
a shield for desperation -hopelessness,
lifetimes of cobbling together spare change
from thankless jobs.

let’s listen to music,
predicting the apocalypse,
anarchist revolution coming back,
desert rebels and cheap masks,
plastic laser guns and old comics,
signs of washed out revolutions.

and we’ll talk and wonder
-about our lives,
wash ourselves down the drains with
the blood red wine,
toast with triumphant roses,
rising with the bubbles
dreams encased until they drown and
pop.

can we call ourselves rebels,
revelling in the moonlight,
dancers under stars,
wrapping ourselves around our bodies,
to the music,
the champagne,
the thankless year’s,
as they go on and on.

some days are colder than they are
warm.
and others are like stars in the sky
-lanterns in an otherwise endless night.

some days you wonder if you should try to leave at all,
if you should just go back to your books,
your music.
and other times you show your face to the world,
dance in clothes that you no longer hide in.

some days you agree that you’re ugly,
worthless,
useless,
and you allow them to draw their brushes across your faces,
making you pretty.

pretty. you’d never know.

and others say we tell them that we’re all beautiful,
but we sure aren’t pretty,
and there’s nothing wrong with our insides,
or perhaps the way we’ve chosen to show ourselves
-it’s all perfect.

every ugly bit.

some days we feel as if our worries,
heartache,
sadness,
emptiness
make this life worthless,
and we believe that that’s all we have
-that they’re worth ending it all over.

we’re wrong.

nothing’s worth that
-there are beautiful things like love,
courage,
smiles,
songs,
and our very own lives.

as ****** up as we may think they are.

oh, oh,
you,
you made flowers grow in my lungs
-sweetheart, they’re so lovely,
but i cannot breathe.

ruby shards pierce my ears,
clear as glass, sharp as blades,
and you,
oh you,
are oceans away.

empty mornings,
late night smokes
-who i am i kidding
all i do is watch the clouds,
while you,
you,
are adrift.

i got the good side of things,
let your own heart bleed gold,
as i left in a tornado
of roses intertwined with a
soft musical song.

your name on my lips,
a whisper in the night
-ten thousand enunciations,
do you even know my name?
what’s my name?

they fall like rain
white and pink and red and blue,
fluttering wings, little butterflies
you call them pretty,
as they cascade to the floor,
little whirlwinds,
tiny storms.

roses, roses,
they all fall down,
pick up my petals
i’ll be ashes in the ground.

in my dreams,
you twirl me around,
soft hands in my hair,
eyes on mine,
golden mornings and moonlit nights.

each morning, morning i wake in your arms,
every night we’re under the garden’s bridges,
a soft waltz,
for softer caresses,
and yet the petals fall all around.

roses, roses,
they all fall down,
pick up my petals
i’ll be ashes in the ground.

i don’t dream anymore,
all my days i lay in the sunlight
-dreams of mornings fill my head,
as i grasp rose petals,
strewn like dreams all around.

summer turns to winter,
spring won’t come for me,
the last spring i’ll ever know,
there are rose petals on top of me and i’m six feet below.  

roses, roses,
they all fell down,
you didn’t pick up my petals
so now i’m ashes in the ground.

each thought is lighting,
across a mess
-of weaving gardens,
where roses cough up petals.

strange creatures with thorny hearts,
soft champagne made of tea and of gold,
i wonder i wonder how this beautiful world,
this beautiful world,
became so dark.

they fall, i fall,
down a rabbit hole,
where queens of red tear my thoughts,
and queens of white eat my heart.

i wonder, wonder how each creature changed,
when i fell down the rabbit hole.
sweet little bugs you’re giant monsters,
decadent cakes you’re made of scents,
clear water you’re cold.

soft little hearts, notes between schoolboys
suddenly rip my skin,
pumpkin mazes where i used to wander
they pull me under,
under in the dark.

they fall, i fall,
down a rabbit hole,
where queens of red tear my thoughts,
and queens of white eat my heart.

they fall, i fall,
(roses and petals)
down a rabbit hole,
(thorny hearts)
where queens of red tear my head,
(this beautiful world)
and queens of white eat my heart.
(so dark)

last night i dreamt
the moon was made of gold,
with a dangling halo of silver gossamer
-and i, hanging from the threads,
grasping at whispers as i fell into to the sky.

her voice,
the moon that is,
had fallen from a sweet dulcet melody
to a voice made of sugar and honey
and so i fell from the stars into her arms.

the water had risen
so many springs ago,
as water from the tears of the stone maidens
emptied into the sea.

the sky was clear then,
when only the stars blemished the midnight canvas,
and i raised my hand above the water
clear droplets streaming down velvet skin,
and touched your cold face
murmuring a soft hello.

last night i dreamt again
of your response the first night,
when you laughed
you threw your head back,
and i saw the stars ripple through your hair,
the light in your eyes brighter than a thousand flames
when you asked for my name.

you sang to me again,
your voice wrapping around my body
in glittering strings, golden and soft
and carried me up into the sky
wrapping me in a lullaby.

she sings herself a lullaby at night,
weaving herself a thousand dreams.
she’s going to leave this place,
repeated over and over
-like a prayer on her chapped winter lips,
made to long dead gods.

she dreams at night that she is the sun,
and she holds her lover’s cold face in her hands,
pale eyes and a soft pale light tickling her cheeks.

she dreams that she is among the stars,
free from the evils that paralyzed her,
the hands that pulled her away from her dance;
beside the river and under the stars,
walking the path where stars the floated along a deep blue road.

among the stars,
where the world pulls her closer and closer
where every night becomes worthy
-every nights she slept with ink stained hands,
weary eyes,
tired hands that can barely pull her knotted hair away,
and frayed pajamas.
every night she wondered if the world wasn’t for her.

now she sleeps in her bed,
under a canopy of far away fairy lights,
in the milky moonlight
she whispers to herself another prayer
-the stars are watching over me.

gone, gone, gone
will you be gone tonight?
gone, gone gone,
will you be home tonight?

all the windows,
all they show is frost,
cloudy panes and soft street lights
are you coming home tonight?

the lights glow,
and i see shadows underneath,
me and you dancing in the lights,
under the boulevard at night

but you’re

gone, gone, gone
will you be gone tonight?
gone, gone gone,
will you be home tonight?

i stand alone at night,
no more streetlights,
just an empty bed,
an empty home

an empty home,
will you come home?
come home,
come home to me

gone, gone, gone
i’ll be gone tonight

gone, gone, gone
you’ll return tonight
only to find me gone
tonight

if my life was all but a dream
it would be all but your dream,
your sweet melody-
soft piano keys and longing
they hit distant shores,
your shores

cold beaches
and colder nights,
warm fields,
warmer bodies close together
-that was our dream

but we-
we don’t dream anymore,
cold nights don’t become warm ones anymore,
i didn’t want to be with you anymore
anymore

i still write songs
they’re still for you,
they’re still dreams in my head,
taking your hand,
your shores in my head

if i love you was a promise
to you,
i love you was a dream,
for me,
it was only just a dream

but we-
we don’t dream anymore,
cold nights don’t become warm ones anymore,
i didn’t want to be with you anymore
anymore

but we-
we don’t dream anymore,
cold nights don’t become warm ones anymore,
i didn’t want to be with you anymore
anymore

i didn’t want to be with you anymore
(if my life was all but a dream)

cold nights aren’t so cold anymore
(it would be all but your dream)

we don’t dream anymore
(that wasn’t our dream anymore)

your name echoes in my mind,
dancing-
on the windowpanes
where the rain falls,
drips down the cold glass,
making the world so bleary
-like waking up in the morning,
to the soft smell of warm chocolate.

the warm sweaters you wear,
they’re so unlike you-
-you, the girl who tells me three words when she’s afraid,
for me, the girl who can’t seem to float
and yet somehow i fly.
you’re all dark and softly-bright,
like cotton candy wisps and dark velvet necklace’s,
not warm burgundy and spiced hot chocolate.

one night, one fall night where the leaves were barely red,
i was afraid of you,
the way my skin turned to embers,
our shadows waving and flickering in the moonlight
yet now i cannot stop to wonder why the fire
turned to stone.

now i look into those eyes,
i see the sky laid about bare,
and my soul hanging by a thread in wonder,
hands touching.
you are the moon -going down in the sky,
giving birth to an easy morning in the country summers.
you are the stars, far points on light that call me home,
reach out to touch me from my place under you,
calling me to my dreams.

soft breaths against a soft cheek,
a warm head, with soft hairs mingling in your sweaters
-the way you lean over, no, not over,
but as if to cover mine keep it safe from the darkening sky and whirling leaves.
i am the lone girl under rattling metal rafters,
when they’ve all gone home,
and i,
standing alone in the dark wondering about you
am still under the rafters of a place that isn’t home.

i am falling apart.
i sit alone, with torn garments i can’t bear to throw away,
wonder about a life -more like a pipe dream,
when in reality when we try, we are the type they write sad piano odds about.

i say goodbye,
pulling my sweater close to my chest shivering by the door,
and picture us in a warm place, surrounded by people offering us hands,
dancers moving around us, soft and slower.

whispered words, becoming us.
but i can’t whisper to you, because my voice comes out in screams,
yet all i hear is an orchestra the rest of us could never afford,
only dream of.

we try so hard,
and by the time we’re at the top -we shall be,
i think i’ll have lost you,
to the vines that break the soft stones in the sun.

do lovers, the ones who have love,
that seems as if it’s boundless,
in death that makes it timeless,
live in time, or do they ascend to the stars?

will it ever be that the last time becomes the first time,
as each touch becomes more intense,
because each touch is so much closer to the last time,
when i know you’ll fall into a future you hate.

lingering fingers,
pressed against your soft skin,
who’s soft skin?
hers, hers, hers?

fingers that press with more and more urgency,
arms that wrap tighter and become more frail,
eyes veiled with more and more sadness,
our love could fall to ruins.

you reach out your hands,
but did you mean for me take them?
you did not think past friendship.
or perhaps, it was something else you didn’t think past.

will we be dancing,
this year,
or the next, or the next?
or perhaps you’ll slip through my fingers.

i could be someone else’s baby,
and you’d never know.

would you still sing,
displaying your angelic voice
amongst a cacophony,
when i feel like only i hear it?

will we be slow,
or will something push you towards me
-if we dance, sweetheart, then you’ll never have to worry,
if i am yours i’ll never be anyone else’s baby.

but if i was hers, when i used to be hers,
i wonder if i ever stopped loving you.
but if i was hers, another one’s,
would i stop loving you?

what if this is our last chance,
and we’ll never do this?
this fragile friendship, build-up,
could mean nothing at all to you.

would i ever have a chance with you, if i was someone else’s baby?

i’m not the type of girl who kisses boys
by the train-tracks in the moonlight.
not the type who falls so hard for them,
sneaking outside her window and tumbling down her slanted roof-top.

i’m not the type to fall.

but when i look at you,
when i hear your voice,
soft, breathy, and kind i begin to wonder if we could ever make this work
-if i could love you and never leave you, if you loved me back.

i wonder, if i’ll have the courage, to ask
while drinking a pumpkin spice latte for the first time,
if you’d go to a dance with me.
would you kiss me in the moonlight?

would we be able to love each other,
yet only remember beautiful ghosts of dancers swirling around our blurry forms?
do you think i could see you in your dorm,
decorated with streamers and schools, and still be yours?

i’ll never be the type of girl who kisses you
by the train-tracks in the moonlight.
but i would fall hard enough,
if only you feel with me.

take my hand and jump off this cliff and into an endless sea.

your music -both of your music is resounding,
as i try to make my words beautiful
when all the while they’ve just been readable.
you pile small words into loving strings and blocks,
you put music in my ears and show me
that which brings you joy.
do i bring you joy?
i want to bring you basket-fulls of it.

you are not what i should allow -i cannot allow you to reside in these corners of my mind,
which are supposed to hold the tall tanned forms of men and the awkward and gangly boys
who play in the schoolyard.
they’ve run off to shoot their basketballs, tap their thumbs against their screens,
really i don’t need them to feel soft butterflies in my stomach,
they’ll never have the incandescent butterflies in me for their own,
they can’t deserve it.

these uneven strands, like paper beads in front of the pale moon,
glowing above the waters of a small village,
are heartfelt and wonderful,
like the declarations i imagine are given there,
where the rest of the world meets the scintillating fireflies and slow dreams on slow river canoes.
can you imagine us, if our brains were not so worried about soaring ahead -if we had time to experience those in-between moments that allowed us to fall in love?

but we have no in-between moments,
even though i delude myself every night, dreaming of a day when i put my pencil down,
and allow myself see you -sitting next to me while eating, your warm voice on the phone laughing softly in my ear,
you laying next to me while watching the stars -ever distant as always,
just as much of a mystery to me as the map of the night sky and it’s burning stars, spinning clouds,
and utter cold.

each delusion has become a beautiful memory, a twisting mystery.
a soft touch to the face, brushes of hands. could you be in love,
or was it just that i was your favorite girl -today? or were you brave?
do you miss me? my large eyes want to drink you up, and allow myself to imagine us,
doing more than brushing hands and painting each other’s faces over and over and over again,
until we’ve made masterpieces out of words and feather-light wanting.

it’s time to write our story,
because today feels like the first chapter.
today, i am determined to begin filling a book,
because our first chapter will look like hope.

the air was cool today, but when you breathed it out,
it came out smelling like the sweet fruits of summer,
sounding like soft waves sounding somewhere,
cautious feet barely touching the water.

i don’t know if you’ll take my hand tonight,
at the beach when i invite you into the water,
will you allow yourself to drown in it,
let the mermaids voices lull you into love?

do you think i could lull you into love
-i’m not a mermaid exactly,
but i could let you put flowers in my hair,
and make me like those beautiful angels of the sea.

please, please fall in love.
i like you, but that’s nowhere near enough,
i need to fall in love with
me.

can your heart-rate rise a little,
can your hands make my pulse flutter a little?
do you want to feel my heart rise,
soaring on soft dove wings for you?

you’re very kind (and you text me a lot),
so would be so kind,
as to fall in love?

i should be listening to music,
while writing love poems.
but i’m busy,
and all i can manage is a short little note,
about something else.

my mind feels like clean paper today,
fresh and beautiful.
it’s been filled with the brightest colors
-someone telling me i’m beautiful,
loved.
someone loving my words,
someone whispering promises of heaven in a song.

it’s been filled with bright-eyed questions,
running,
but always feeling oh so very right.
i feel oh so very right.

i ignore this small twinge in my gut,
my life is going so well,
that i do not doubt.
but i ignore that small twinge in gut,
when someone said i could be cured.

their face appears everywhere,
and their face is my mother’s inspiration.
does she think i can be cured?

i am the perfect daughter.
i study, i volunteer.
i am happy, i am kind.
i am in clubs. i am good with my friends,
reasonable and responsible.
but there’s a blight she doesn’t know -a blight that is not a disease.
but when your inspiration tells you so, would you dismiss it as an interesting view?
would you believe it if you knew my blight? or would you forget?

i, i can only describe my blight as bright.
i have been told i light, like every color in the world.
for once, i feel right.
i may not fit in, but i know the lines on which i walk.
or i know how to walk.

because you told me, to hear someone who said i was bright.
because you have always supported what i am.

am i making something out of nothing?
there are so many of them,
and they are all so beautiful.

there is the girl who i was smitten with for one night,
who can not be mine.
but she was pretty.

another, who shows me her voice,
one worthy of angels
-my greatest mystery.

yet, there is another,
she was likes them the way i do,
but she isn’t the one.

and i barely know her -lovely number four,
but what does a meaningful look, a hand on the shoulder,
you should stay, mean?

and you, angel girl
do you plan on this one day,
when you boldly told me that we’d live when we were in school together?

number four, do you even like girls?
the people i’m with when i’m with you,
they sure wouldn’t like the idea that i like girls. you?

what does getting to know you mean?
what does it mean when you seek me out in conversation?
what does it mean when i look so hard for someone to fall for?

does it mean me wonder why you don’t text so often
-is it not a thing you do?
or perhaps do you love to show me this when you can see my face?

i’m talking to you number two.
just saying.
by the way, we could watch these films together, they’re cute.

as you say, you’re not looking for something,
but you’ll let whatever happens happen.
what if i happened. hypothetically?

is it too much to ask for someone look at me,
and realize why i have bags under my eyes?
to see tears glistening like diamonds,
on the richest crown?

is it too much to ask for someone to listen,
as i allow my words to flow, as i say them,
and just hold my hand and understand?

is it too much to ask that i know my sadness
-that i know i did the right thing?
then, why, do i feel like i’ve given up a dream?
because that isn’t true.

is it too much to ask to come back,
allow myself to just come back,
say hello,
see again what i miss?

is it too much to ask for content,
that feeling of happiness and fulfillment that i had once?

is it too much to ask for love,
for some beautiful person to notice me,
some person i love in that way
-because i feel many eyes watching and none have made a move.

is it too much to ask,
that someone wish they could fix my problems all at once,
that someone other than my friends loved me,
wholly?

is it too much to ask the stars to glitter like they used to,
bright, and promising, tantalizing, inviting me to see them one day?
they seem dull, as if they’ve turned away,
as if i’ve given up on them.

i am one of those girls.
today, my hair waves softly,
and looks exactly right.
today, my shirt was tied exactly right,
so you could barely see the soft skin beneath.

today, i left.
i walked away from a pedestal
-yes, i would have been good,
yes, i loved it.
yes, i was amazing.

yes, i was tired and
couldn’t do it anymore.

i stand in the rain today,
on walkways where wet orange leaves are plastered to the ground.
i sit inside, scratching my pen on soft paper,
watching the sky darken grey and cold.

i am one of you.

i am the girl, standing on the bleachers with her eyes to lights.
it is friday night.
i am the girl who wears her school’s shirt,
on leggings and with pride.
i am the girl, who relaxes,
stands guard at the pool.
i am the girl who does her homework,
and always asks questions.

i am lost. i miss this,
the glory and the feeling. i miss being that good.
but i am content, my heart is at ease.

and don’t worry, the world’s still gonna know my name.

she is drowning again.
this time she knows the truth
-she can’t do this anymore.
and this time she knows that her mother’s hand is not the hand she needs in hers,
and that she walks alone on the only road she’d ever known.

as the road diverges, her feet are spread further and further apart,
so she’ll fall into a deep crevice,
or jump.
she’ll fall before jumps.

maybe there will a river at the bottom,
so ice cold.
but she’d move along,
and she does love to swim.

maybe it’ll be ground,
and she’ll break all her bones.
then she’ll pick herself up,
keep walking.

what if an abyss is just an abyss?
a pit of nothing,
a pit where you’re falling and you don’t know,
how low you’ll go.

and if you expect wings,
how would you create them on the way down
-no one cares enough to strap them to your back,
because no ones cares.

she knows, it’s all her fault.
you know.

she’s been told she’s everything,
and she wants to be everything.
but her heart is gone.

her appetite is gone,
and the once hungry girl
is left picking at her plate.

i have a question,
before you ask me why i’ve done this to you.
do you know what i felt that night?

i wanted you.
just you.
you were everything.

and then, i couldn’t breathe.
but i wanted you.

i woke up,
and you were there,
and you were mine.

i woke up,
and then i wanted your head on my shoulders.
us standing together, laughing.
forever able to do that.

because i had doubts, and to keep going this way would mean,
an inevitable,
ugly,
end.

and i want to be able to share an apartment with you in new york city, if we want.
make fun of your art that will be wonderful or at least better than mine.
i want to be able to watch games with you in the dark, and turn and try to explain them,
then laugh about how we don’t know ****.

i want to be able to sit with you among our friends,
turn around and see you laugh.
i want us to be able to go to concerts and walk the streets and think little of it.
i want us to be among friends, and think nothing of it.

and if i love you,
i want to love you for years,
and i want to stay.

and if we’re never what we were for these three weeks,
then i want us to be happy.

i don’t know what i’m doing anymore
-who am i falling for?
is it her,
the one i loved, who i am so afraid to lose?

is it the one at lunch
-the unattainable girl who directs her words to me,
or is she just looking for a kind ear?

maybe it’s just me again,
looking for someone to make my heart race in the way i want.
maybe it’s just me again,
afraid to lose what we have?

i’m falling again,
i hope.
i’m always falling
-that’s the thing about me,
i’ve never not been in love.

i fall,
at first, with a whole heart.
with you, it was the whole heart.
and then i fall to fall.

and oh, dear i think we were good.
but i confess that i confessed something,
and never thought about it.
never realized that my pining would amount to something.

do i love you? would i love you months from now, years from now?
do you love me? or am i breaking your heart?

i wonder if we even had time,
to do this thing,
to wonder.

i wonder if i’ll ever sit with someone on a porch swing,
my old hands clutched in their trembling ones.
i wonder if i can love someone long enough

-without the fear.
the doubt.
the fear,
all over again.

always, i end up here
-me wondering why i move on.
or if i move on at all.

i can hear it now -the pine needles making a soft carpet and the leaves rustling,
dancing with their partners and laying with the soft crunches.
and there were rivers, rustling along the beds and laughing,
growing deeper and flowing to the sea.

we’d pile in the car, and run through the forest,
let the cool air kiss our faces, run shivering to warm buildings,
drink the warm cider and wrap scarves around each other.
it was warmer than summer would ever be.

i can see it now -the sunlight streaming through the trees,
trees and rivers i learned to make time for,
and us holding hands as we looked for directions,
the road stretching before us and hills rolling with golden leaves.

sunlight streamed through my classroom windows,
as i ran to school in boots, stepping towards my friends,
sitting huddled with each other,
because we felt whole.

i can smell it now -the fires, soft and warm and comforting.
we’d stop at these towns, low river towns, and look around in awe.
how could you live here, where the leaves are always gold? where the cold river runs so deep?
where the drink are so warm? where the clouds hang above you?

have you seen the sea in autumn? it turns grey and the sky grows cold. yet, the boat rides,
in the stinging sea air, seem all the more fun. and yet, the market smells all the more warm,
as the children walk around in wonderment,
gloved hands clutched tightly with their parents.

i can breathe it in now -the loneliness of a world that seems to be in it’s twilight,
but in reality is simply content to drive the mornings away, stopping to see cold buildings,
and allow the leafy afternoons to sink into an evening, where the lamps turn on,
and we sit in watch the stars in the gorge at night.

now, i remember, how much i loved all of you. we could listen to soft banjo music,
eat our sandwiches in the warm car, dress up and step into the autumn chill,
we’d explore any village and taste their hot chocolate, then stay as long as we wanted.
and then we’d move on.

some days, i feel the guilt churn in my gut,
like my insides have been replaced with syrup,
and i’m slowly being swallowed and crystallized in amber.
every secret i’ve kept from you whispers, begs to come out of my mouth,
because you love an illusion. but you’ve given the illusion so much love.

other days, i set the guilt on fire.
i feel oh so angry at you, for keeping us apart (unknowingly),
and i want to see your perfect world fall away,
as you realize that you’ve been living and loving,
me. the illusion.

underneath everything, i am tired.
i see circles like black holes form around tired bright eyes.
i see a lover, even though you think i do not have such love.
i see a secret, that burns like fire and strikes like storm.

you still see your happy girl
-but i am all that and so much more.

my dreams are still the same, my mother.
but there is another.
i dream that we walk together, i dream of her voice,
i dream of her in the night when i am alone and wonder why we can’t fall asleep hand in hand.

your lovely illusion is long gone,
resting in a beautiful of childhood
-with happy days, textbooks, the loud and strong proclamations:
saying that anyone who found such a love was a fool.

gone is the girl who you tell me about:
“i’m so proud that you listen to us and share our values -you’re wonderful.”
some days my mind screams
i do, i do, i do.

and others, it sneers are you.
it wants the ugly words to burst out like a swarm of angry bees
-yes i do. but i dream of women in ways you never would.
your perfect world would shatter, and we’d be destroyed.
my illusion holds it all together.

and i look up, and i see the day where no one needs my illusion anymore.
i’ll come to you with her, someone, her and sit down and tell you everything.
i was 15, mom. i love her. and whether i wish for it or not
-her world will shatter.

then i wonder, if she’ll be there one day.
i imagine walking down an aisle of roses.
i imagine flying to somewhere far away to ask for blessings
-their perfect worlds will shatter. to them, we’re barely not criminals.
but i hope they love us still.

and sometimes i imagine you,
and me,
in a place where we don’t have to worry.
doing things with each other that no one would ever imagine
-where no one will ever find out.

why is it such a crime to love you?
i love you. against all odds, i love you.

i love you when i’m told that love like ours is not the way we were made -that its disgusting.
i love you when people look at us and wonder who we are.
i love you when i worry about someone finding out about us.
i love you when i hate the world for trying to tear us apart.
i love you when someone says love.

sometimes, i think that is what i hide.
a long silk skirt of realities and lies,
swirling around our love.
and oh, that skirt casts a light like broken glass shards.

i’ve learned what it’s like to run my life.
eat fruit, exercise, pick-up the keys, do homework.
eat ice-cream, text all day, sleep as late as i want.

and now that life is no longer mine
-i’ll vanish the dark crescent moons under my eyes,
and lay in bed wondering once more.

i suppose, it is good for me
-i’ll look brighter, happier,
and my work will be done.

i’ve missed you so much
-the solidarity, the love,
the utter love.

and yet, in your absence i did something,
something precious and pure and perfect,
that you’ll never understand.

those late nights, tapping messages and sending them,
away to her lips,
and now she’s mine.

when you come back,
how will i hide this?
i can hide this.

more focus,
less time.
and yet.

you, and i we can’t be the same,
we can’t make these plans,
come to each other flushed and hungry.

and oh, i know, i know,
we’ll be busy.
but you, you’ll still cut a piece of my heart out.

i have not written since my last disaster.
the hopelessness, and the empty,
they were horrible feelings, but they held a beauty not worth having.

today, i worry. because tomorrow, the world demands results.
today, i worry. because so many people have told me so many things.
today, i worry. because so many people want me to join their laughter.
today, i worry. because no one knows what i’m doing.

the sun came back -did you know?
however, it is so much easier to study in the rain. i feel the need for my life,
when in reality my life should be tomorrow -because the world demands results.
because those results i also demand of myself.

yet, my heart, ever persistent, collides.
it whispers to me -can you believe it? she knows about that?
and it tells me -you can’t miss these things.
even though i can’t solve these things, they won’t let me rest until they’re solved.

but the world demands results. it wants a girl with a voice,
a girl who can turn circles and spheres and make something out of what she’s been given.
most importantly, it demands a girl who can solve any problem,
reason out every thought for hours. those are results.

and day after day, i change from i to she. because i am me. and i’m also she.
she, who can be the girl the world demands.

she has no time for this, she knows. her whole life is results.
as it should be. and when she’s done, she rests her shoulder against her bed.
and once, long ago, used to wonder who found her beautiful.
once, used to dismiss that feeling.

now, she carries it. each time the world demands, she gives.
she gives everything for results, and everything else for those people.
expect one thing. one, who she can’t see. one has held her hand twice,
one who makes dreams with her.

one, who she makes dreams with. because when the world is done demanding,
she’ll send her letters in the form of keys,
and think about what they’ll become.
she rests her back against her bed, and wonders what it would be like if she was sitting next to her.
holding her hand under the moonlight and holding her in heart as she allowed the day to seep out of her.

it’s getting cold.
her work begins to pile up on her desk,
paper cascading around her off the table,
sitting ignored as she thumbs through a book,
humming softly.

and she feels ever colder,
because though she knows the sun will touch her face one last time,
she feels the impending sense of everything changing.
her freedom, her sleep, and all those books
-piling up around her in dizzying towers she can’t seem to hold upright.

each poem has become an ode.
no longer does she right those summer love poems,
notes of dreams and pining and romance.
she’s grown lonely,
and grown up.

each ode is to who she was
-the kind girl with the widest eyes and strong opinions,
this new girl with no focus,
drifts and watches the ink run down the page.
she’s so worried, because she doesn’t care.
and doesn’t care about that.

tomorrow will be better,
she says, sighing with tiredness repeating over and over again.
tomorrow.
tomorrow.
tomorrow.

but the pounding in her head won’t go away,
and all the doubts sink in
-you’ve lost your edge.
-you’re not doing enough.
-you’re never going to do enough unless you break.

her heart seems to beat colder,
slow down and she’s not that old.
she’s young, and she feels herself,
the brightness and ambition disappearing,
and they’re replaced by content and a sense of emptiness.

have i ever told you how your music sounds
-on soft sunday september mornings?
my apologies.

i imagine the world wakes up,
and expects there to be soft frost on the windows.
in reality, the leaves have barely begun to turn sunset colored.

we play soft jazz, something like, and waltz around the room.
we wrap our hair above our heads,
watching it droop ever so slightly until it’s puff is silken soft and messy.

and wait, until it comes time to run to school,
in those sweaters and jackets, to feel so a part of life,
jumping and dancing on cold aluminum bleachers.

the strangest thing is that i feel so close to you
-we can become the girls of dances and games and skates,
highschool sweethearts.

idly, i wonder if this strange sunday september morning
has made me wonder this,
because the music that plays in my ears seems to say yes.

it’s an ode to these girls of legend, the ones we define our lives by,
come together to watch, and slowly,
dance to the music and twirl.

also, did i mention, it’s a little dark,
because those sun rays i used to so love have truly run out and become outdated,
and the music becomes slower and turns into bright friday night lights in the dark.

now, i am so tired.
the sun’s rays have stretched and became the evening,
as today ends.

and, oh, today, i’ve done so many things.
today, when the day began, when it was night,
i fell in love and confessed. and then you answered.

today, i was hopeful. today, we are hopeful.
but as the shadows come out,
i feel tired.

i feel this longing,
to crawl into bed,
this longing to absorbed beneath the shadows.

and you’d come, if you wanted.
wherever you wanted,
that’d be fine.

today we became something,
and as this day ends,
i wonder what we’ll be tomorrow.

but against all odds,
against this world.
i think we’ll be something.

and i sleep with that knowledge,
tucked into my heart,
a note against my chest.

long time no see,
sweetheart.
i’m not sure if i’ll say that to your face.

this day, i’ve been elated and terrified,
then hopeful, and wondering, and odd,
now tired but weary but happy. sure.

how will we ever go home again?
me and you, we’re doing things they’d think us crazy for,
things i think myself crazy for.

but i have no regrets about you.
i’m glad you know,
and i’m going crazy.

loving you is like mapping stars,
tracing constellation after constellation,
never wanting to finish.

loving you is like soft whispers,
persistent, underlying my heart,
my heartbeats and breath and smile.

loving you is my hands shaking at times,
softly trembling,
touching the air with gentle taps.

loving you is like dance,
feeling the lights warm your skin -letting the glow cover you,
and being a diamond -allowing your heart to lay you out.

loving you is like the stage
because you’ve never felt an energy like this,
never let it consume you.

loving you is hope,
trust that we’ll be something great,
trust in fever dreams and laid out plans.

loving you is like sleepless nights,
because we’re moving and moving,
too busy dreaming to stop.

loving you is like a story,
sleepless nights and coffee and pacing,
thumbing through pages until you fall asleep on your keyboard.

this is what loving you is like.

what is this like?
this is love.
this is me, feeling like i hold the world when you turn towards me,
and your cheeks are soft pink and you look up,
and give me a soft smile, ducking your head.

this is me, unwrapping kisses and wanting to hand-feed them,
wanting to pull you close,
wanting this to last forever.

more than anything, this is me afraid.
i don’t want to ruin this, or us,
or love.
i want to know exactly how you feel,
and i want all of you.

i want to see your poems,
unravel your mysteries and study you,
map you like the stars
-discovering more and more of the most beautiful thing.
wanting to delve into it.

and i guess this is us
-feeding each other kisses,
blushing, wanting, cautious, afraid, hopeful.
this is us, building a map of the stars and galaxies and never knowing enough.

this is us, wanting to be happy
-being afraid, and thinking, thinking, wondering.
taking it slow -because the first things we’ve ever done will be with each other.
and sometimes, there may be others, other things, but we’ll have each other.

and this is me, listening to the same music because it tells me
-we have something beautiful ahead of us,
that i’ll never regret.

this is what feeling (loving?) you is like.
all of these things, this wonderful feeling that makes us beautiful,
and somehow i wish the world could know,
because i’m afraid,
but so happy.

today is this first time i’ve ever really,
really,
wanted to pray.

i’m so afraid, because you’re all i can think about.
it’s all you, and the other things,
they’re important but you, you’re there.

and who would answer me?
what would they say,
when they found a girl, who always wanted to pray,
pleading and asking for clarity.

what would heaven say?
the ground beneath my feet,
seems unstable,
so take my hand and pull me up and let me see the clouds.

help me run, help me fly,
and rid me of these feelings
-this confusion. because i want us to just love.

and if someone else answered,
i’d walk all the way down and ask.
maybe you’d give me help, or i’d find sinners along the way.

we’re both sinners, because our muses (not us) told us we were something else
-beyond the way humans believe. beyond belief.
so, what would think of me my knees,
just wondering something about you.

today i am hopeful.
this, this is our story.
today, the sun is bright and the rays,
they whisper to me.

whispers of you are mine,
whispers of hope,
of the fact that these years could be more,
more than school.

the moon tells me, there will be memories,
those ones i only dreamed of having,
the ones i never thought i’d have with you,
but always knew.

i always knew about us.
i knew from the days you mentioned loving my creations,
the days you said there was a girl,
and i was so disappointed.

when did you know?
was it today, or yesterday,
when you told me you had hope?
for something -i’m not sure.

and darling,
feel free to call me that.
or sweetheart.
or whatever else.

this, us, i know something will happen.
something wonderful.
and now, the things i can’t write about,
i imagine.

what would i be if not for you?
i’d be alone, wandering, lovely,
but c’mon i heard your voice,
and suddenly how could i not love you?
we laugh about our stories, we laugh about their stories.
and suddenly i want to make our own.

that night, it got late, and i didn’t want to go home.
the music we were playing, i imagine you singing my words,
and staying lost in this beautiful place with you.

everything, i pretend it’s all about someone else, you think it’s all about someone else,
but everything you say falls into my next poem.
that night we watched stars. the time i told you we should do something together.
and it’s true, i’m afraid of falling for you,
but i’m even more afraid i’m not.

and when i hear your voice, it’s nostalgic, because today i have these memories
-when we didn’t know anything, when all we had was stories,
when we believe in epics and magic and hated real life,
when we were a fantasy, and now we’re a reality,
and i’m nostalgic about our old nostalgia.

i’m also afraid we’ll be just like them,
and i’ll hear another voice, and i’ll be happy, because for a second, i think it’s you,
and then i’ll remember. see?
i’m good at making this about them, because it is about them,
but really i’m hoping you’ll ask me one day, and i’ll say yes to you.
and that night, the night will grow late and we’ll lay down together and just stare upwards.

hey moon -you know that lyrics, don’t you sweetheart, oh god,
what if i said too much?
i’m so afraid you’ll never talk to me again,
but if i love you, this will all be worth it sometime soon.
and pay attention -there’s a line for you and here it is:
everything i’ve written has started to sound like you, and i’m dangerously close to falling off the knife’s edge of my feelings.
and pay attention -because there are lines for you in every poem.

i can hear them now -those sirens, those bells,
and all the girls in our uniforms, hollow and brave,
and how we sometimes feel so alive, and sometimes so, so tired,
those ones who ask questions, and the ones who just leave,
and we’re both of those and we’re so brave,
and i think our eardrums are going to break.

every night, pick me up and we’ll go home,
but oh wait sweetheart, we can’t because we’re so young and so ******* busy.
like i said -i’m dying but i’ve never felt more alive, more happy,
or more tired. life has never been like this
-and i love these dreams, because right now they're blowing my way
did i also mention i love you?
i love you.

you know, you know, each hug is fragile,
broken glass shattering and putting itself back and becoming beautiful,
and thats me. you’re all soft words, and eyes like mine but all the more cunning,
but you’re braver than you know, and you’re a mystery.
and with every touch, i think of what would happen if we were hungrier,
that maybe, if we were hungrier we’d solve that mystery,
or i’d solve you.

always, always so worried. too worried to make a masterpiece,
but somehow you say i’ve made masterpieces of words, and i’m waiting for yours,
but i think you’re unlucky, because even though i’m so afraid of my muses,
they drive my hands, my brushes, my pens, these things that make you softly open your mouth,
and oh how i want to trace those lips. i wonder if you want to trace some other girl’s lips.
because there is no way you love me the way i might love you.
if i love you. i’m so lost in this.

more than anything, i think, i’d want something for myself.
so many muses, so many friendships, so many lovely people,
but yet all i want is only another kind of love. your kind. because you know what we could be?
every night, i’m trying to spend more and more time with you.
and if we were ever next to each other, i’d like to hold hands and gaze at the stars with you.
oh no -i’ve said too much. i wish with all my heart (futilely?) that you know who you are,
please tell me.

and these sirens keep sounding in my head, and i’m wondering if i’m losing my life,
because we should have each other, at those games, with those hollow brave girls,
with those dancers, and alone to dance to our own songs, and in our words.
we’d write each other, or perhaps you’d draw me, i’ve always wanted that.
anyway, this is just another schoolgirl’s dream becaue she should be focusing
-but she knows she needs something to do other than focus, someone to love,
and right now, it’s you.

somehow, right now,
it’s winter and i’m wrapped in your embrace.
somehow, it’s winter and we’re all wearing brown,
sitting on soft couches and listening,
pretending we’re oh so smart,
when really?
we’re oh,
so
young.

and all our hearts, they’re strewn across the floor,
all our work is forgotten,
as we kiss and touch and watch the snow fall,
and sit down to dinner,
where we slow dance -in the living room,
then wrap our arms around each other,
repeat the same songs on some ancient tape player.

those slow drumbeats, the soft jazz notes,
the growing thrum of this cursed city
-the one we danced to? sank into the sheets with?
this, this is where we got lost in us.
with the snowfall outside and, who would have noticed
that we smell like something other than fall candles.

i grin, and we grab our things off the floor,
and laugh it off. somehow, we know this place,
it’ll always be our home. after all,
sweaters cover our marks in a way sun-clothes can’t,
don’t they darling?

now, soft skin, pearlescent,
seems like some sort of luxury, a wish made during yule,
something i can only share with you,
because truly, i don’t think i’d want to share this cold place,
unless they were you.

and as we waltz to slow music, as we plan, as we laugh,
as we sit down in the candles,
i think i’m falling all over again,
because your eyes look hodded in the light,
your skin inviting, your mouth soft,
and your smile makes me wish you’d swallow me whole.

i dream of us,
me,
and you.

i’m a poet (?), and i have a voice,
and sometimes i think you want that voice
-ridiculous, because your voice is captivating, alluring, angelic.

but it could be true,
and it could be true you like my voice?
i dream.

and i imagine us wearing jackets,
looking beautiful and confident,
arms wrapped around us and forehead kisses.

girls at football games, girls at dances,
twirling you around,
burying my face in your neck and inhaling.

we could be beautiful.
we could be teen love, and teen heartbreak,
teen queens. teen goddesses.

and every night, i could want you,
but only if you wanted me back,
strong like me.

and we could be a secret,
hiding behind friendship,
and friends who love kisses and holding hands.

swetheart, i could call you that, right?
sweetheart, we can be whatever you want us to be,
and i’d be so lucky to be your friend.

but see those girls
-those could be us,
if you just told me.

you could kiss my neck,
whisper or confess,
or surge forward. i’d welcome you.

please,
please,
tell me.

whoever you are.

you, your letters are infinitely more beautiful.
everything about you was -the bite in your words,
the beauty.

you, unassuming.
your tops, looking unintentional,
but all carefully picked.

i fell in love when i saw you’re writing,
because your words told me writing was beautiful.
magical, musical, unassuming.

but you’re also a total *****,
a girl who gets all the love
and leaves you feeling rotten.

what kind of girl, what kind of beauty
targets a younger, admiring, girl,
making her feel *****?

cruel. of course, my friends know it.
i, i scramble in shock,
to deny it. you know.

and i hate you now,
somehow your writing doesn’t seem like it did,
beautiful. but it still is the best i’ve seen.

i think back to you,
wonder if my writing is just as pretty,
as the girl who was my first muse.

summer nights are best spent with you.
greedily scarfing down ice cream,
watching our feet touch the sky from old playground swings.

and the ones in your mom’s car
-the soft music, the hard music
singing to melodies that we’ll never know.

each night, we feel each’s wishes.
i, i want to give you fairs, and cotton candy,
and hold your hand as we walk along the sidewalk.

i want to twirl you around,
because though we’re very summer friends
i want to keep you forever.

our feet scrape the gravel,
toes tap the sidewalk,
noses breathe in the air.

distinctly, i remember something
-us in a concert,
our shoulders brushing as we danced.

i remember laughing with you in the water,
because i hated being short,
so naturally i had to climb you.

i remember every year
we laugh away these nights,
until they become memories.

they, were, definitely,
polaroid worthy.
you’d give a blank look.

and then spring would come again,
and we’d be sitting in your mom’s car,
watching the sunset again.

remember this?

write something beautiful,
they ask, beg,
threaten.

but i feel so utterly,
so utterly,
uninspired.

the ink is running off,
and dripping to the floor.

beautiful women live in my head,
beautiful melodies play through it.
yet nothing beautiful comes to mind.

tired eyes stare back at me
-because this beautiful summer life is dying.

there is so much to do now,
and i can’t seek out inspiration.
i’d have to hunt it.

i’d have to save this part of myself,
immortalize it in the fabric of my clothes.

i’d remember it in class,
starring out the window.

i’d remember it in winter,
wrapped in a sweater’s embrace.

and then it would die in the spring,
the most beautiful season, so they say.

i
hate
it.

but i think for now i’ll immortalize this moment,
with the hate and fears,
with the threats and the fame.

because i’ve written something ugly.
this is my reminder.

my treasure map on your skin
-soft stars and dots,
i connect them with my fingers,
and they become constellations.

and your voice, my fingers,
playing a soft melody,
as i drown in you.

a thousand dancers -we watch them,
and i ask them to dance for you,
they swirl and laugh and then
they disappear.

i wait for the music to start before i say my words,
because then, only then,
maybe then they’ll be worth it.

if only i could convince you to stay,
because you make me feel lonely
-suddenly i can hear the soft moan of the sea,
see the waves dance to it’s voice.

and now i ache,
because as time passes,
your song grows weak.

your voice and my song, it’s being swallowed
among all those other ones,
more beautiful than my call to you.

and now that you’re gone, i hear them
those drums of the sea,
the angry clashes that make the storm that brought me to you.

and now i hear it, the sorrowful moans,
beneath the soft songs that all those lovers sang,
that day we fell in love.

hey moon,
you look like my girl.

but you fell, even when a soft not-so-country singer begged,
begged you to stay in the sky.

the only falling i’ll ever do,
it’s for you.

i fell for you,
as fast as a stone,
a jewel thrown into the sea.

glittering along those most beautiful things in the world.

i fell for you,
like rain from the north.

relaxed, slow,
then all at once.

northern downpour sends love,
i’d sing sardonically.

but with love?

this poem needs a continuation
-it has to be metaphorically beautiful,
more than us.

it -this poem,
should be a ballad.
a saga.

but darling, we’re not really anything,
we’re not really anything at all.

i wish i could break these walls down,
but these words (honey, sweetheart, darling),
they get stuck in my mouth with you.

i wish i could tell who made me realize,
who my “special someone” (as you said it),
is but i don’t want to ruin us.

you’ll only be darling in my head.
we’re only lovers in my heart.

every dance i’d dance with you,
but i know i couldn’t dance with you,
unless you knew everything.

but if you knew everything,
you wouldn’t want to know me at all.

so there’s the reason -
this ballad, love song, work of art, horrible poem for a lover
will stay in my heart.