just yesterday you smiled
at a girl you don't like
(it wasn't me and i don't know if you
like her - like me -
but i like to believe my own truth,
it makes life easier)
and i thought to myself:
if only i could tell you the string
of words i sew in poetry
(i would laugh at you and use
snarky comebacks and i would hope
you would notice them
- notice me -)
and the words i read and hear and think
(i think about you but you never noticed) then
i wouldn't say anything at all
(but the fingers crossed behind my back would
hope that i wouldn't have to)