i wrote you a song
partially because i was deeply in love with you 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. It breaks.
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April 2023
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