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Thursday, March 24, 2016


I keep writing myself
so I can remember
not to fall in love
with you.

But then you go and give
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

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
and pull me
close to your body,
hold me tight,
and offer to make me

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.

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