Love
There’s a difference betweenkissing ass and kissing pavement
in a terminal
after you begin to think you won’t
outlive your mother.
But when the streetlights ‘ve gone
and tomorrow promises
a different day
I think of this lovely boy
who once held my hand.
I don’t know how
she can manage to suck the fun out of everything we do.
Do, done, did.
Because everything word she says is losing my interest
even more than her lackadaisical description
of life and death she’s provided everyday
for the past two years.
She’s throwing out rumors of
what happens when you’re dead.
She can stop reminding me that
I may never see my Birkenstocks ever again-
after I’m hit by that double decker bus
I plan on walking out in front of.
I fell in love via three way phone conversations
when I was ten years old.
And I fell out of it by way of email
From a girl who said I was stupid
And ugly
And fat.
I found hope in a convenience store
with soda and bubble gum
that I never even chewed
because you stole it
and blew a bubble
bigger than my face.
Apologies have never been
something I appreciate.
But you held my hand and gave me a
pitiful
hopeful
lovely look.
So I accepted and you kissed my cheek
and I blushed.
I only know because my best friend
snapped a photo at
the very last second.
You told me you fell in love with
my smile and my
tendency to be incredibly quiet
in social situations.
I told you I fell in love with
a silly boy who kissed me on his couch
and told me I had beautiful eyes
and sometimes I wondered if
I would ever be able to see him again
and then I started to cry.
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