Flattery

Whatever this is,

I know it won’t last forever.

And I would like to say that is ok,

but I know when it ends it will crush me.

You said I couldn’t run away;

you said you’d chase after me if I did.

But I don’t think that’s true.

And if I were her, I wouldn’t want that to be true.

I know I hold no place of value,

that I am but a detour on the road

of finding whoever else intrigues you.

But I will willingly fill that void.

Isn’t that sad?

When people tell me you use me,

I don’t want you to stop.

Because those are the only two choices you know:

you either are using me or

you have feelings for me

and I firmly, 99.9% believe it is not the latter,

’cause love is not something you willingly give out to people.

And maybe people think I’ve fallen too far,

and maybe I believe I have,

but not fallen “in”.

Oh, I will never fall “in” anything with you.

I won’t allow myself the p(leasure)ain.

And if by now you are still reading this, kudos to you.

Because I know regardless you will read this.

I know you will not realize I’m supposed to be working on an article, but instead I am blogging about you.

Greasy fingerprint on black keys,

trying to put into words how you make me feel,

what makes me think of you,

and it feels like it’s everything anymore.

“Blue Jean Baby” on the radio…though I know that’s not the name of the song,

the screaming song that played the first time I closed with you,

how you got excited about the fish in Wal-Mart,

and how I crushed a part inside of you when I told you Millville had none.

But Vineland does…I took pictures for proof.

I remember the way you danced/walked in Wal-Mart, how I laughed and shook my head behind you.

I’ve memorized the way your face scrunches up when you laugh

and you know how I feel about your eyes.

So, PLEASE pat my head a few more times and put me in my place.

I don’t want to feel this way.

I want to fear this way.

And yet…

I still want to adventure with you.

To aquariums, museums, soccer games, and the town where I grew up.

I want all of my family to love you.

And I want to know that someone else, some time else can make me feel the way you do.

Can make me happy,

can make me feel alive and unstoppable.

Possibly add onto the fact that whoever they are may make me feel beautiful.

I won’t allow you to call me that.

I HOPE (and pray) you never think that.

I told you not to care at all, but shows how much you take my advice.

And I’m sorry I put my thoughts on a page,

but I’m afraid I’ve lost my voice.

You are partially responsible though;

you made me want to write again.

My dad tells me the best artists make their greatest work through suffering,

so can I keep you?

Or are you finally ready to run away?

Don’t fight to keep me,

don’t let me go gently.

Push me away and I will oblige.

After all, I only want you happy.

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