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Tell

I keep writing myself

poems

so I can remember

not to fall in love

with you.

But then you go and give

me

the keys to your house

and tell me to

hang around as long

as I want and watch

cartoons while

you work.

And then when I say

no thanks,

you insist on

helping me

load my bike into

my car

And this is where I would normally

declare my independence

and say

I can do it myself,

But you make me

want to let you

do things for me. Because

you seem to like it

And so when

you grab

the check and pay

the bill every time

we go out to eat,

I no longer insist

on splitting everything

halfsies.

I want to let you

Take care of me.

And this is something

I haven't

felt in a while.

So although

I keep writing

these poems

to remind myself

not to fall in love,

You reach over

to me in the

morning

and pull me

close to your body,

hold me tight,

and offer to make me

coffee

And bring it to me in

bed, hot and dark,

your smile

as bright

as the day outside

your windows,

blocked by metal shutters

so your room stays

dark and cool

no matter the time of day.

And all these reminders

I keep writing on the walls

are not working

at all.

Who wouldnt love (Reprise)

After the first time we fucked I wrote a poem about you titled
The Man who Would not Love Me.
I wanted to remind myself that I knew you were going to break my heart
And that I had entered into this agreement willingly.

The time we stopped fucking for a month my
grieving heart splintered into tiny shards of glass
And I wanted to use one of them to cut it out of my body so I would not have to feel anymore what it felt like to love you.

But instead I searched for the poem to remind myself, (willingly)
and it--
like my dignity--
had disappeared.

The third time I asked you if we could start fucking again,
You asked me what was going to be different.
"I've put you into a different box. It'll be different." I said. "Trust me." You didn't--

But then: "You're a grownup, so I'm only asking you this once: Are You Sure?"
What I didn't say:

I knew that you weren't going to love me back how I wanted to be loved.
And I wanted to love you anyway.

II
The time I broke my leg
You brought me books and movies and laughter
"HEY NOW, none of this moping-" You said.
You gave me encouragement and guidance. You said you would have been at the hospital holding my hand through the pain if you could (I didn't believe you, but it was nice of you to say.)

But you would not do the one thing I wanted most: lay down in my bed and hold me.

When you went home I cried and then had a crazy-freak-out Percocet drug trip where you appeared to me as an apparition.
You said, as directly as you'd ever been to me in real time, "I'm not going to be that guy for you."

III
The first time I really accepted you for who you are,
I was able to love you for who you were able to be with me
Instead of who I wanted you to be.