Around sixth grade, when my friends went through the boy phase
I promised myself I’d never write a love poem.
Or a love song.
But your crooked little smile
And the question-mark curve of your dimple
Kept asking me questions of life at all the wrong times
Like, the middle of class:
“How can you hate and love someone
at the same time?”
I should have known better.
Sixth grade resolutions rarely withstand
The test of time.
So this is me recognizing a fight already lost.
This is to you and your infuriating manner of
Making me laugh when I’m mad at you,
Of pinning me with a serious gaze and caring at the moments
When you shouldn’t care at all. This is to your
Dark eyes and messy hair, the way you make me want to
Strangle you and hug you at the same time, but never admit
I love you, because I know that somewhere there’s a girl waiting on you
And she isn’t me.
I’d never be that stupid. That was another thing
I said when I was thirteen. In seventh grade. Do you remember at all?
We used to talk about your girlfriend, and I remember wishing
That somebody would care that much about me.
This is for all the times we played basketball on the blacktop,
For the times we walked next to each other, arm to arm, shoulder brushing shoulder,
Side by side, but never hand in hand.
For the way our eyes have met on occasion and for a second
I’ve been weak and let myself pretend.
This is for all the missed moments and the almosts,
The could’ve-been’s and why nots
And I’m writing this because of your stupid smile
And your stupid burning eyes, and your stupid dimple that flashes
At all the right moments. I bet you time it, don’t you? Practice in your mirror.
Even though I call you cocky and arrogant and egotistical
You’re adorable and infuriating and annoying
And unattainable. Not because you’re out of my league, but because
We’re not even on the same field. Because we’ve always been
On the same side.
And I’m writing this because I’m hoping that somehow
My thoughts of you will leak out of me and onto paper
And stay there, where you won’t bother me every waking moment
And won’t follow me in my dreams.
Here’s your stupid little love poem.
Submitted by Kaylie.