Poetry

This Is Why I Can’t Have Nice Things

As with any crush, you low-key hope that they eventually become more than just your crush and with any crush of mine, I always tell myself and others that I’m not expecting for anything to happen even though I still kind of am. Expecting isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it does put your hope on the line and when someone or something doesn’t deliver, that hope can crumble within seconds. Here’s my most recent experience of hoping too much:

There’s a spark, a start, two hearts; it’s terrifying yet attractive.

One of us is bound to get their heart broken and the other is adding to their trail of unrequited admirers.

You know, it’s a good thing you can’t read between the lines because if you could, then you would have already turned me down and I wouldn’t be writing this poem this way; although, you probably meant to turn me down when you told me you enjoyed my company as a friend.

You know, thank god I don’t believe in a god because I think I could’ve prayed hard enough to stop this from becoming unrequited love, but then what would I have to write about? There are enough love poems as it is.

Oh my god, why do you keep telling me I’m cute? I know you don’t mean anything by it, but my subconscious needs a break from self-deprecation and you’re feeding it.

I wish your compliments didn’t amuse me as much as your magic tricks, but even with 20/20 vision, I’d probably still fall for your illusions.

Oh my god, why do you have to care about what I have to say? Now, I think I’m important to you.

I wish I didn’t fall for the slightest bit of your attention, but you know how to play your cards — oh, you play them well — I don’t even call your bluffs because I’m too enthralled to care.

Oh my god, why did you have to talk to me at all? Now, I think I have a chance with you even though, let’s be real, I’m not exactly your type because you have Her.

Her is thin and pretty and outgoing. Her sighs and you automatically ask her what’s wrong. Her has a dance class this afternoon and you’re going to be there like you always are for Her.

You and Her. Her and you. Her is not me and I will never be Her or with you. You have made that clear.

Her has gorgeous hair and a cute chin and a great ass.

Her is this and Her is that; is it wrong for me to want Her of this picture? Or maybe I should be the one to leave.

Because how stupid was is it of me to think you had been spending more time talking to me than you have with Her?

How stupid was is it of me to think you’d offer to carry my things the way Her carries your heart on her sleeve?

How stupid was is it of me to think I had a chance with you the way you give Her multiple chances whenever she messess up?

How stupid was is it of me to think I could ever be more than a friend in your eyes the way everyone looks at you and Her and thinks you guys are more than friends?

I guess your purpose was is to just be a friend.

People don’t like-like you back just because you like-like them — this isn’t a movie. I shouldn’t have expected more from you the way I expect my hair pins to do more than just clip my hair back because hair pins aren’t for picking locks — this isn’t a movie.

My warranty has expired and my emotions can’t afford to fix a friendship that’ll stay a friendship; they need a long-term investment that’ll invest in them back.

Scotch-tape and glue don’t always work as I’ve learned from previous experience. If something can’t be what I need — not anymore, at least — it slides down the trash chute. After all, I can’t return what I’ve already used.

That’s why I’m broke(n), I never get my money back for the people I lose.

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