there are twelve reasons I can think of why I should not feel what I do for you love you.
in reality, you're younger. you just seem so much older,
like you've seen things,
that I'll only see and do
years from now.
you don't have to wear makeup
and you still look beautiful.
this scares me. you have that raw kind of beauty
that can't be achieved by needles,
probing under the skin, or even something as simple as
a swipe of an eyeliner pencil.
you look me in the eyes.
like you can see right through me.
like you're listening.
like you care about what I have to say.
you like boys.
which kind of –
sort of –
presents a problem.
when I pass you
in the halls,
I make this
that I'm sure makes you think I'm mental
(especially in those red socks.)
(with your long hair halfway down your back.)
you look good
(hell, you look good in every color, I'm just not going to list them all.)
you look good in
(especially black. it's intense. it's sexy. it works for you.)
I can actually talk to you
I'm afraid of what I might say.
I can't tell what
your eyes are.
but they're not.
if you know what I mean?
I find that far too much of my
is used up,
staring at them.
but when I look away,
I still don't know their shade.
and it's slightly hot,
but I'm afraid of what you may say to me,
and what you might not mean, or
after you've sipped out of that
red plastic cup
(ping pong ball removed, of course).
and after all this (could you see it coming?), I realized these are just more reasons I…love you?