I'm Not Used to People Like You

I’ve been told that if the tiara fits, flaunt it.

And you happen to be the perfect size,

so I will dance around in the night until I turn into a princess.

Until my hair is so long it sprouts blossoms,

and my feet are so light they become one with the wind.

I’ll stop if you want me to but I won’t go easy.

I’ll scream your name to the northern lights,

and you’ll hear me 8 years from now,

as you kneel down to propose to your new fiancée

that you love just as much as you are carefree,

but never as much as I was innocent and different.

You’ll remember me and the time I had to spend 5 dollars

to pretend you won me that stuffed dog at the fair,

and the grumpy carny who sent us away.

And how I never would have let you cancel on me

after making you wait five months before letting you inside my shell.

My walls decorated to the nines with wilting flowers

and butterflies with broken wings

that still know how to fly like it’s their very first time.

And you wrinkled your nose when you laughed,

and your freckles looked like stars on your face

that was the colour of a galaxy I’ve never seen before.

My knees are stones that I’ve knelt on too many times

to ask for forgiveness, or to pray for solitude.

I’ve learned that I am an enigma that not everyone knows how to love.

The way you hold my hand tells a story that no one has ever thought up

about the sun and the moon,

and how he didn’t have to die every night to let her breathe

because together they were an eclipse that lit up the entire universe.

People shove me away in their back pocket

like a courtesy card for emotion

that they use when they need a membership discount for affection,

but never to hold or to keep or to love,

and I’ve never known a man who didn’t start a picket line

when I took a bulldozer to my logic

and built a brick wall to block my view.

You stood on the other side

like you knew I would never go through with boxing myself in.

You knocked on my windows and asked to come inside.

My hinges are rusty but they still work.

There was no mat under your feet covered with my name.

You didn’t leave dirt tracks on the pavement

where the imprint of my heart is in every pebble.

A tread so gentle it leaves me soft.

Healed bruises, scarless wounds.

I want to love you so fiercely it hurts the sky.

I will never be sorry for the number of breaths I took in my car

when I saw you for the first time.

I won’t apologize for not waiting 3 hours to text you back,

or for being persistent,

or for wanting to make my metaphors so obvious it gives you a headache.

Drowning in your jacket the night we were so high we felt the clouds,

and you were so close to me that your heartbeat kept me warm.

I told you I was the biggest catch in the sea,

and you asked me what you needed to do to reel me in.

I hope you never have to use a hook

when you try to catch rainbows with your hands.

I will be your pot of gold,

and there is no safer place in the world

than behind this locked door.