Roming Freely

I just want to be the person you write poetry about. Not even good poetry. The poetry of 1 AM text messages that try to spell out love in sloppy metaphors about stars and smoking. The kind of poetry of a lonely windowpane in rain. The kind that swells up in your throat while you’re drunk so when you speak it into my voice-mail it’s just, “You’re so beautiful and goddammit I’m in love with you.” Rearranged letter magnets on the refrigerator kind of poetry. Small note in the jacket pocket kind of poetry. The wordless poetry when you’re staring out the black windows of an empty train. Half-rhymed abandoned words you scribble out between meetings and forget on your desk. I want to be the person you try for, the one you spend hours scratching your head and tugging on your hair trying to frame into language beyond “fuck everything else you’re all I care about.” I want to be unspeakable to you, but glittering in your veins so you feel like if you don’t talk about it you’ll explode into stardust. What I’m saying is I want to matter to you like you do to me. I’m saying write me poetry.

Goddamn I wanna be loved so bad

The person I reblogged this from deserves to be happy

I tried to scroll past this. I really did

I feel like minor acts of kindness and good intentions are really important on days like this.