i wrote you a song
partially because i was deeply in love
and partially because your name is so easy to rhyme
nothing rhymes with my name
and people don’t write songs
about people like me
i am brash and you will have to tackle me to the ground
to get me out of the driver’s seat
i do not bend
and i do not yield the pen
i became a writer
despite the years i spent at college parties, yelling over too loud music
“well i WRITE but i’m not a WRITER”
like one letter made all the difference.
one person once wrote me one song
and i would much rather they had never made a sound at all.
am i so hideous to you?
i can see clearly how horrible
the black and white staved spine of my life
extends without measure
please - it’s enough to sit quietly and pretending that our feelings are soft, together.
if we can make it one night, cooking dinner side by side
and no feelings are hurt, i can go to bed happily
and sleep through the night.
turn off your fucking alarm
stop poking me before nine am
and let me get some rest.
in the morning, it is best to be soft and quiet and together
and forget the meaning of music beyond the stillness of breaths
and our fingers tips softly touching.
i wrote you: a song
and realized in the end what i knew from the beginning.
it is not enough
it will never be
we try to dance together at parties but you are a slow and slinky foxtrot
all West Coast shined shoes and perfect hair and dustbowls
and I fist pump and accidentally knock over a lamp.