I am in love with a boy.
Wait. That doesn’t seem right–Okay, I’m not in love with a boy,
But it feels like I am, because every waking moment,
every sleeping moment,
all of those added together there is one thing in the back of my mind always and he won’t stop laughing,
a little chuckle and a little smile and a little bit love in every word he speaks.
I don’t want to be in love with a boy.
Love is supposed to make you feel full and happy and like there is nothing in the world you need other than love, just like John Lennon promises in his songs sung with exactly that.
But love is hurting me because all I can do is imagine and dream and that is all fine until I realize that I have done nothing to deserve love.
So I don’t get it.
When I open my arms for someone to wrap me up in that warmth I desire,
I am left cold.
When I leave my lips virgin to a kiss open,
nothing touches them.
When I fall asleep in bed at night grasping,
I am holding nothing.
If I am in love with a boy, then he is not in love with me, and–
There is nothing there then.
Only imagination and dreams; I’m still cold.