I want ya'll to read this poem
you make me feel… goofy.
goofy like i blush when someone mentions your name.
goofy like i have a bzillion things i wanna tell you when you’re not around, but face-to-face i just stare at my toe making circles on the ground, like i’m all thumbs and no place to put them, like i just wanna write you a note that says:
do you like me? [ ] yes [ ] no [ ] maybe
whatever random cool i’ve been able to harness leaps from my grasp when you enter the room, and i feel old school, and by that i mean grade school, like back in the day when the space between wanting to touch someone’s hand and actually touching it could hold lifetimes of passionate yearning.
i don’t wanna make out with you… i wanna make a fort with you, right in the middle of the living room with all the sheets and all the blankets and every chair in the whole house, a soft labyrinth scented with fabric softener and hot chocolate with marshmallows, lying on our tummies on the avocado shag carpeting and eating golden grahams right out of the box.
we’d be the best spellers in all the sixth grade spelling bee, and we’d spend our recesses in the library quizzing each other over dueling dictionaries and encyclopedias and having cutthroat scrabble wars, and you would always accuse me of cheating, but i still swear that ishkabibble is a real word!
i would trade my grape jelly sandwich for matthew’s fuji apple to switch with mikey’s cherry fruit roll-up to swap with fat andy’s peanut butter cup — even though i am allergic to peanuts — just so i could trade your favourite candy for your grape jelly sandwich.
during art class, i would draw dr. suess landscapes of fire engine red grass and royal purple trees just so you could use the green crayon as much as you wanted.
people would talk about us… and we would let them.
and if you got the chicken pox, i would ride my 10-speed across town on a saturday and climb in through your bedroom window to hang out with you while your parents were shopping so i could get chicken pox, too. then we could both stay home from school and talk on the phone all day long and watch game shows and twilight zone reruns together and take breaks only for dinner and the bathroom until it was bed time and we whispered into the phone under the covers in the dark until we got really sleepy. and i would say, “are you asleep?” and you would say, “yesssss…” and a little while later i would ask, “are you awake?” and you wouldn’t say anything, and i would just lie there listening to the sound of your breathing.
on my homemade valentine’s day card, i would write i like you in sparkles and glue, only my handwriting is so bad, all my K’s look like V’s, but we decide that’s better anyway… i live you.
we’d make pinky swears while biting our thumbs, cross our hearts and hope to die and make promises with words like always and forever and never ever ever, promises you can only make when you’re 11 and don’t know any better, back when three weeks at summer camp was an eternity and a change of schools a disaster, back before pimples, before underarm hair, before bra straps and make-up, back before graduation and college and graduation and real life, back before resumés and jobs and careers and mortgages and marriage and divorce and debt and disappointment…
back when summers… lasted… forever…
and our very first kiss… on the cheek… was the most awkward and scary and wonderful thing in the whole wide world.
that’s how i like you… like… a lot.
so, which is it?
[ ] yes
[ ] no
[ ] maybe
It's by a guy called Big Poppa E