skylark11:

chances - a poem i wrote last week (read aloud)

chances

1.

The first time that I kissed you,

we were drunk behind the dance
and I told you that I had just
fallen on your face.

You should have smacked me,
but you didn’t,

and even though our first kiss 
was less than perfect,
you are perfect,

or at least the closest thing 
to perfect,
because perfect isn’t alive enough,
and you are so alive,
like roadkill before it gets killed
bouncing across roads 
in danger and with chance
but only thinking of how 
great it is to be leaping around -

four paws, soft paws -

not even worried about cars

because we’re running out of oil,

and you live four hours away by car,

so it’s a really good thing

that you love me.

2.
Drunk again,
I asked permission this time
yet I ran away from you for a week after

because I didn’t believe you liked me.
“I didn’t know you were so

thick headed and dumb,” you said,

but I was,
and even though our second kiss

was gentle and awkward,

because falling in love is awkward,
you are not awkward,

you are a bird on the descent
with your wings out,

but not one of those predatory birds

that have been known to kill

small reckless rodents,
picking them up and tossing them around

before they even cross their first road,

because those predatory birds
terrorize the sky,

yet we still like to go outside anyway,

so it’s a really good thing

that you love me.

3.

A few months before you left,

under the stars glowing on your ceiling,

we pretended one was shooting,

so I kissed you then,

honestly.

“This isn’t a good time to be falling in love,”
you said,
but we were, under plastic glow-in-the-dark stars,
and plus,

when exactly is a good time to be falling in love?

The notion of falling
alludes to asphalt at the bottom,

bones and blood spattered in an array
of a crime-scene investigation,

road kill multiplied 
by fifteen in size,

with no chance to make that sort of wrong

a right,
but we’ve re-written the ending countless times

so that it won’t exist,
but even if it did it would be delicate
because you are the softest being,
and I would fall anywhere with you,

so it’s a really good thing
that you love me,
the free-falling, predatory bird, 

headed straight for a car windshield

before I met you.