this can't-stop-thinking-about-them
this elementary might 'like LIKE you, like you'
this tidal-wave stomach-storm,
this can't say
this nervous jitter
my heartbeat could storm a castle
at just the thought of touching their face
and I'm writing bad poetry again,
knowing that this is just another sign
I've tripped and fallen down the staircase again
but this time it feels innocent
it feels unsure,
tentative- like the way a baby opens its eyes for the first time
or the way you learn to fly.
unsteady, heady, and a little bit tipsy
on the unspoken longing.
this is a language I have never spoken well,
a foreign country I do not remember.
forgive me,
I don't know the rules
I am a unschooled 5th grader
afraid of your touch
but yearning for it anyway
I am a mountain full of tremble,
I do not know how to hold my feel-too-much to my chest.
you are not a safety blanket
but you just might be my next revolution.
