before school dances in sixth grade, i used to make a joke with my dad. if anybody ever asked me to dance, i would say “what! are you crazy, you want to dance with me? of course i can’t dance with you now, nobody in their right mind would ever want to dance with me”. and that is genuinely how i feel about feelings now. 

“i like you”

“stop”

“no, i like you”

“and i like hanging out with you too”

and you were being so brave and i was being so evil, and i couldn’t say it back i couldn’t say it back

“ouch”

“what though?”

“i said i like you, atleast ten times and all you can say is that you like hanging out with me”

“i just can’t”

“why”

“because i can’t”

and i knew in my head that this shit would happen to me, and i may have muttered “typical”. and you questioned that word, “why’d you say that”, you’d said. and i told you that i don’t ever like anybody that likes me back.

i am lonely. 

this cigarette is too dry

because i love you. 

the engine was roaring lightly, and we just wanted to hear the radio and the sweet buzz of  our nerves. neither of us daring to break the barrier of the half-way-point, and as much as i wanted to touch you, i knew i wouldn’t make the first move. but you were only inches away, but the eye contact we held- i counted in songs: six. six song lengths of pupils fucking, but hands behaving. and during the seventh song, when you reached over to stroke my lip with your thumb, the look in your eyes changed into something of sorrow; then though, you kissed me- hungrily. three songs later we pulled away from each other, eyes straight ahead looking through the windshield into the blackness. you sighed, a cold breathe. “what’re you thinking?” i remember asking. two song lengths we sat in silence. but then you answered, and i wish you hadn’t, “just, don’t get attached to me or anything. because i don’t have a heart”. and i wish i could have slapped you, but i was scared your skin might burn me. 

forgive me, for my silly heart. 

what can fix me, can’t save you

what can save us, will only break us further

(and us includes you,

so that can’t happen). 

i’d be watching myself

hurt somebody i loved, day

by day. 

With nobody in your bed
The night is hard to get through

nobody ever wants me back no matter how much I lower my standards.

SOMEBODY LOVE ME. because its late at night and I’m lonely and sad. because I’m lovable and because I want to feel like enough. because I have good intentions. (somebody love me because my bed is too big and I’ve lost myself in both it, and the fantasy of being loved back. somebody love me because I want to kiss your lips and feel reciprocation)