This one’s got curls, tattoos, and sticky sunscreen skin rats under his sink Marlboros in his back pocket and just yesterday, he ghosted his shrink He won't take me to dinner but he hits me up a few times a week— no plan, doing the least still sort of sweeping me off my feet (?) We walk and talk and his hand fits right into mine He says he likes the way my mind works I say, "thank you, but I've heard that line" Am I young and fun or old and tired someone’s got to tell me because I’m tired of being picky, done with keeping my standards high Can I just pretend this one’s the one, burn my wishlist, say I’m in love, tell a lie? I’m starting to think he’s just another dud "which one’s the made-up story, again? fiction or nonfiction?" he asked me today... and did I mention... he types ‘alright’ as two words? This could work so well if he were someone completely different but the way he looks... sometimes it’s hard to tell Maybe he doesn’t have it in him to be the guy I want him to be and maybe that’s ok, because am I even ready? But today, I can’t stop thinking about resting my head on his shoulder, holding onto his belt loop, and wearing his sweater when it gets colder I promised mom I’d figure my shit out somehow So, I suppose, I’ll let this one go wave goodbye, take a bow But how easy would it be to let my guard fall Curl up next to him for a night or two, numb this out with just a call I’ve kicked the bad habits, cleaned myself up and got a handle on the gray, but nothings felt right in so long So, tell me, am I in my own way? I swear, I'm trying to keep him at arm’s length make this fun or casual or whatever seems cool But, truth is, I’m so sick of cool So, maybe, I'm ready? to fall into place? Find a good home, retire the games, crawl inside someone’s bones I’ve heard it’s all about timing finding someone you want when they also want you, but I’m tired of being picky, done with keeping my standards high Can I just pretend this one’s the one, burn my wishlist, say I’m in love, tell a lie? I’m curious about him, but I’m not his wife I hate this process, but, god, I love my life