What the fuck does “Love” mean to you,
that you think I’d take it back tonight,
if you and I don’t screw?
That you think you have to change your hair
to be here, in my core;
That you think I’ll love you less
if you weigh more?
That you think about hiding things
that you truly love from me?
Like I’ll only cherish you,
if you bag-and-gag what I’d hate to see?
“Oh my gawd, our mailman has such a pert ass!”
You laugh with Noreen.
But won’t share that with me, because—?
I believe that mine is the only sexy ass you’ve seen?
You think I only love you because
you’re such an amazing fake?
An agent, whose honeypot daydream
is the closest to truth I can take?
I KNOW that you pick your nose sometimes!
Smiled thinking of your ex!
Left the room and farted!
That it always takes you two tries
to spell “calendar,”
And song lyrics? Don’t get me started.
And I LOVE you, not at all like
whoever you’re projecting—
onto me—they're not me:
some shadow rejecting
this piece, and that piece (like from a
Jenga tower) until you fall.
I like you with all your pieces in:
fulfilled and whole.
Now, maybe that means that
you won’t start to lean.
And you won’t need my hands there—
So I can't be lazy or mean...
Then maybe loving you
will mean I need to work on ME.
So that I’m a tower
stable enough
to be your
company.
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