unknown #13

I’m fifteen with my feet up on the desk

    grabbing paper with chubby fists and wet hair.

          I woke up to his message, 

   I’d stayed up the whole night speaking to him; 

           I feel my chest expand and ache. 

   I don’t know him, who am I? 

        I’ve not touched him, who am I?

             I wish for anything with him. 

     Who am I?

           Where am I?

                           I’m drawing doodles of his face, 

                      my heart dragging me closer 

                               to the ground with every beat and 

                every time we meet like this; 

     with our figures online and 

                   our minds in the solitude, 

                                     you tell me you care. 

    But I’m still forty minutes away 

                   from you with no way of knowing 

          the walk from the station to your place and 

                                                                    they never did care. 

               I am only small and 

                          unimportant and 

                                   the world is so much bigger than I

                      �" love is so much better than I.

                                   Who am I?

      I’m eighteen and I look over and 

                smell the grape of his lips and 

              taste him for the thousandth time and 

                            he stops, 

                                       looks at me, 

                                                       whispers;

                 “I’m so lucky I finally found you.”

                          Me too.