I am asking my body
to stop.
I am asking my nose to stop wrinkling up when I laugh at your jokes.
they are not funny.
but then again, we both knew that.
We both knew I was smiling because of something else.
I am asking my ears to stop waiting for the sounds of your footsteps. Did you know that I have memorized the sound of your walk? I could identify you with eyes closed. That unique, swaying, slow walk of yours I could recognize in the dark. The rhythmic pats on the linoleum hallway, unlike any beat I have ever encountered.
I stay in the art room, my work stretched out on the counter. Painting.You say you can always find me there. I can tell you are going to come in before you do. I can hear your walk coming.
I am asking my hands to stop wringing in my lap when I see you. To stop nervously turning the cool, crumpled tubes of paint around in my palms to keep myself busy. To keep myself from breaking down.
I am asking my mouth to stop running a mile a minute when I see you.
To hide the truth that the fact that you cut math again to hang with me in the art room
makes me feel special.
Even though I know I'm probably just another girl.
Sitting with me alone, listening to my Pandora, making fun of my country music station. I bet it's all part of your master plan.
Showing me songs.I remember you playing me one. You saying it reminded it of me.
The song about the fiery girlfriend. Who doesn't take any BS.
I'm asking my eyes to stop.
To stop looking at you cause your my forbidden fruit.
Cause I don't want everybody in the hallway
who whispers about us
to be right.
And I don't want everyone who asks you in that funny tone of voice ware you were during math 5th period, to know ware you really were.
Because that will lead to questions.
And questions to answers.
and answers to decisions.
And I'm not sure I'm ready to decide about you yet.
And I'm asking my stomach to stop turning
When you do what you do.
When you hide behind the art room door in case a teacher walks by.
When you sit on your chair backwards, and swing i around towards me.
Like you want to get closer.
The day we switched ipods until school was over.
And we found out we had the same taste in music.
And every love song
reminded me of you
and it made me confused
because this entire time I was telling myself you were not my type. And I was not yours.
When you tell me I'm pretty.In the easy kind of way.You say you like that I don't wear makeup and pull my hair back. People tell me that sometimes. I would kill to believe them.
when you ask me if I got paint on my shirt.
And you come in real close.
And you rub it off with your thumb.
But most of all I'm asking myself to stop responding to you.
Because your the guy everyone wants.
And you couldn't have chosen little old me, with the tiny chest, who looks like they haven't hit puberty.
With the quiet, shy demeanor.
There is no chance I am going to fall for the wrong person.
And most of all I...
wait
you know what?
forget about what I just said.
I love god dammit.