I wrote a poem about that boy. You see, I’m not upset anymore, but I still like writing about him. This is not what you probably should do if you like someone, according to conventional wisdom. Which is why I’m gonna just do it anyways. It’s a cute poem, after all.
Love you like you
I love you like a tidal wave Godzilla met a Sharknado over Japan and made everything flip upside down.
I love you like every color on your paintbrush and then some.
I love you like a $2 pair of the perfect fitting dark denim wash jeans in just my size.
I love you like a thumbprint over the doorway of a sandcastle.
I love you like stepping stones of dark cement and the gems that sun sparkle inside them.
I love you like the color of carrots.
I love you like a pair of new red converse that have clean laces and as a classy black trim.
I love you like forgetting to brush my hair and just putting it in a ponytail and calling it good.
I love you like losing track of time on the dance floor.
I love you like 4pm giggle fits.
I love you like the jeggings I wear instead of pants.
I love you like Pineapple and Red gummy bears.
I love you like the last squeeze of toothpaste.
I love you like the lilac by my home and the freshness of a new summer.
I love you like daffodils.
I love you like forgetting to doubt.
I love you like the first page of an empty journal.
I love you like pistachio or green tea ice cream from Sylas and Maddy’s and never eating pancakes.
I love you like steel wool for cleaning.
I love you like frozen peas in the heat.
I love you like forgetting my phone in my car and just living.
I love you like new body wash that smells like my dreams blossomed (that, and a hint of ginger).
I love you like chocolate addiction.
I love you like forcing myself to just eat the stupid cough drop and take that dumb shot of Nyquil.
I love you like how I feel after I put on some really fierce red lipstick.
I love you like the comfy socks, and Cinnamon Wrigley’s, and my Google Drive.
I love you live grace over a car crash.
I love you like idiot poetry.
I love your stupid face like it was a take home macaroni frame you gave your mom and she still has on the fridge.
I love you like I hate pizza, and how much I LOVE a good avocado.
I love you like mowed grass, and tomatoes in like, everything.
I love you like a celebratory beer and sleeping in too late without getting more tired.
I love you like an ice cube in my dogs’ water dish, and like string cheese only once a year.
I love you like each of the little chambers of a raspberry, and taking the time you need before the pineapple on your countertop is okay to be sliced open.
Like never eating peanut butter ever again.
Like a skin tight but not overly flirty zip in the back dress in Cobalt blue.
I love you like forgetting to talk.
I love you like Baby’s breath and not the roses.
Like cheesy pickup lines and pun disasters.
Like the pumpkin slingshot at Schaake’s Pumpkin Patch.
Like Rhubarb crumble over cinnamon ice cream, half melted.
Like beating a new level on an occasionally over the top and violent video game.
Like forgetting to bring an umbrella.
Like painting something crazy on the walls.
Like cleaning because I want to.
Like praise music when you close your eyes.
Like falling out of an airplane.
Like the upside down screaming moment on a rollercoaster.
Like the breathless moment of a firework glittering into cinders.
Like writing in EXPO markers on my mirror so I don’t forget.
Like a really good argument about something so dumb people roll their eyes and relocate.
Like the catharsis of a really good cry.
Like high fives from best friend strangers.
Like a stick of cinnamon in your cocoa; like a carefully strategized snow ball fight offensive and 22+ different backup plans.
Like red leather accessories and things hand made by artists that I wear instead of makeup.
Like pinching pennies and getting a Nintendo.
I love you like finally remembering to do that errand. Like remembering where I forgot my gloves and still finding them sitting there. Like forgiveness on a parking ticket.
Like citrus fruit. Like I love you.