this is not a love poem

this isn't a love poem.

this is a poem about cactus popped basketballs and wool blankets,

2 hour bike rides and 25 cent trinkets,

too many years of thoughts that never got to taste the sunlight,

or dance on the tips of your lips.

too young to be behind the wheel,

but perfectly young to know what it is to feel.

this is about betrayal and heartbreak and beds that we never found time to make.

slurred rants to anyone who would listen 

and hour long meetings our mothers made us sit in.

this is about trying not to care when she puts her fingers through your hair

and looking at each other for just a second too long.

perfections not needed for something to be grand, 

but it's constantly fighting for that coveted upper-hand.

this is about sugar and spice and everything nice 

about memorizing your eyes and seeing them whenever i closed mine

about constantly saying "i'm fine i'm fine i'm fine"

this is about learning that just because someone stops thinking you're incredible

doesn't mean you ever stopped being incredible.

maybe this is a poem about fear and youth and learning the truth

about trial and error and always messy hair

but this isn't a love poem.