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A poem I like.Category: Stuff
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
08:55:36 PM (GMT)
My friend Sarah wrote it. It sounds a lot better when it's read, but I really love
it, so.

His pants are stained with hair dye,
snd he smells like his daddy's tattoo parlor.
Every time I get in his old car it smells like stale cigarettes and fast food
but I don't mind because he knows I like my window half way open.

Have you ever put your hand out your window on the highway when it's raining?
Raindrops turn to liquid bullets, and it hurts so bad your fist closes.
But it feels so good, your fingers extend
and after a while your body feels numb compared to the raindrops' sting.

And that's kind of how he makes me feel.
His sharp jagged features and raw punk attitude repel me
and I am afraid to open myself up to him.
but the contrast between him and all the other people I know is what draws me in.

He's that eye opener,
he shows me
who I am and why I need to be that way.
And I love him for that.

I've been missing the rain lately.
He has shown me how numb I have become to other people,
because I know he's the only one who can give me the same sting of life.
With his voice, his touch, his lips and his flawless imperfection.

I don't think I'll be able to go back to sunshowers,
because I've seen what thunderstorms
are capable of,
and I like it.

I'm not sure if it's the Sex Pistols patch on his jean jacket,
or his blunt, honest opinion of life,
but I like him.
and I really hope my parents don't have a problem with that.

I don't mind holding hands with brass knuckles or
patching up clothes with holes,
and I don't mind moshing with a boy I'm in love with
because sweaty bodies with heart-pumping music is just as good as sex.

So what are you doing this weekend?
'Cause I've got two twelve-packs of grape soda 
and a bottle of vodka in the back of my car,
and I don't mind spening a weekend in the woods with you.

Warm bodies in sleeping bags and tents under the stars
is better than cold pizza in my room with a shitty movie.
and I miss you, from your ripped up Vans to your uneven dreads,
but four years in New York is a long time.

Last night you texted me,
"Hey babygirl sorry I missed your call. 
I was with Jenn but she ditched me 'cause I couldn't stop thinking about you."
And I wasn't sure if I should be happy because he couldn't replace me,
or mad because he tried to.

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