I will wake up at three AM
And I will roll over
Into your arms.
You will rub my back
Until I fall back to sleep.
I will wait for that.
I’m here to tell you that
the reason why I want to steal your black shirt
is that the scent of it reminds me of you.
When I wear it
my mind is surrounded by so much of you that
I forget who I am, and
these days that is what I need;
to disappear, to not exist,
to get lost in somebody else.
(It is so exhausting to be alive sometimes.
Have you never wondered why I sleep so much?)
And you’re right.
There is no space in my life for you
or him or anybody else.
At least, not right now, but if by some
miracle this dusty heart
finally starts to beat out something besides
the numbness of blood in my hollowed out veins,
then I’m here to tell you that
I wish it would be for someone like you.
I’ve dedicated dictionaries worth of
poetry to people who have never dedicated
a single thing to me. And here you are with
words meant for I alone, yet
I’m still an empty shell of whoever it was
I used to be.
even though I write about love,
I’ve never been much of a love poet.
I no longer believe in fairytale endings since
I stopped kissing boys
with mouthfuls of disappointment and
started treating my body like
a burning building so
nobody can get close enough
to get inside of me.
But if I were
normal, if I pulled out the fire extinguisher;
if I were brave enough to
fall off my bike and trip over my shoelaces; and
if somebody could reignite the
stardust trapped in the cracks of my bones;
I pray that it’d be with someone like you -
Someone who’s not afraid to touch me.
Someone who’s not ashamed to want me.
you know I’m not the type.
I would rather
kill a man for his money than
kiss him back for his love.
I could never share the childlike innocence and
naivety in your eyes, because I’d rather
dissolve into the sky so I can be
everything and nothing at the same time.
But I am here to tell you this as well -
I’ll be one of the best god damned girls you’ve ever dated.
(And I’m not just saying that to annoy you)
We’re not lonely and
we aren’t trying to find someone to save us from ourselves.
Like you said, "We’re just having fun," but
it’s still nice to hear you breathing
next to me and pretend your heart is thumping my last name
while fireflies glow on my ceiling like
cigarette lighters guiding us two children back home.
John Legend’s PDA will remind me of you
the same way I’ll remember how you like the sound of raindrops falling
even though it’s depressing as fuck.
(I’m sorry for swearing again)
One day I might
come to collect that salty kiss,
whilst for now I’ll settle for
the softness of your hand in mine -
gently, ever so gently -
and the snugness of your breastbone when you hug me
even though you’re aware that I
could make your fever worse with the
coldness of the icicles
I’ve sculpted around my chest.
I’m not sure how I’ll feel when you leave, but
I’ll miss your black shirt and
your unabashed forehead kisses and
your stupid questions and silly sleep-talking
and your two crazy best friends.
It’s been nice dreaming with you, sailor.
I’ll be waking up now.
(Write about me some time)”