It's the middle of world history
and we;re writing an essay
i'm so close to being done
and this class is far from being over
my #2 ticonderoga pencil keeps tapping on the desk
my eyes keep wandering to the clock
and my thoughts keep wandering from
how religion affects society
to how your hands would feel in mine
and what your favorite color and food may be
and what your voice sounds like in the morning
and how you eat waffles
because god knows i eat them like a pig
and i want to know
how saturday afternoons taste with you drizzled all over
and how much warmer the bedroom air would smell
with you floating around
FUCK.
at this rate i will never get this done
give me a minute...
okay, alright
it's a load of crap
but it's done
so now i can think about you
and stare at you
and wonder about how you eat
and what your favorite song used to be
and everything else about you
without feeling guilty
without feeling like a whore
without having to remember what you look like
I can stare at you
with the possibility
of you actually staring back
with the possibility of our eyes meeting
and you asking me for more than just a piece of gum
or maybe this is all that'll happen
me staring at your left hand and your temples and your calves
but maybe you were doing that during geometry
maybe you were staring at my chipped nail polish and my bouncing right leg and all over the place hair
...were you?
we're in the middle of World History
and i swear
for a minute there
the clock froze
and your hand held mine
for a few extra seconds
and you were thinking something
Maybe you were just in deep thought
about somebody else
somebody that effortlessly fits on the cover of a magazine
somebody whose insecurities don't outway her self-esteem
somebody with a tiny waist and a flat stomach and wide hips
everything i can't seem to have
and everything that i don't have like you
i'm sorry that i can't look into someone's eyes without looking away
it's not because i don't like you
it's because i literally
like everything about you
i can't tell the most important people the most important things
i can't love you
because it hurts too much
because you don't deserve a mess like me
you don't deserve the piece of shit that i am
because no matter how many times
i dip my tongue in rhymns
*rhymes
and metaphors
all that comes out is your name
we're in the middle of world history
actually it's closer to the end
and both our essays are done
and all i can think of is you
and i swear if there was a shooting star
or if it was my birthday
or 11:11
I'd wish for you
and if somehow
all that happened
at the same damned time
i'd waste each wish on you
even though i'd rather wish for something more practical things
like a house
or a car
or to be happy
like to lay in your arms happy
and for you to hold me
and for us to just breathe
it's the end of world history
like the bell just rang
only i'm not rushing to my next class
i'm too busy spending every last
penny i have on you
every last wish i've been granted
on you
every last minute
thinking about you..♥
