Back in 1996, as a sophomore in college, I published this poem in the pages of my college's literary magazine, The Bradford ReView. And I read it at coffeehouse to celebrate the release of the magazine. And the girl I wrote it about told me how sweet it was, and asked me who it was about, just as the poem predicted.
I wish I had something more to share with you this week, but it's been a rough one. So, please, enjoy this blast from the past and know that I'm grinning at the awkwardness of this right along with you (and maybe laughing a little, too).
or is it?
after i read this
you'll probably tell me
how sweet it was
and ask 'who is this about?'
and i won't know what to say,
because I can't find the words to tell you
it's about you.
i can't find the strength to tell you i love you.
or do i love you?
or is it just another pointless infatuation
for the sake of being infatuated, or is it
just my bloated ego telling me i stand
a chance, 'cause you're so beautiful, or is it
your personality, or the way you've held me
as a friend, or is it, or is it, or is it just
self-conscious boy in puppy love, because he's
never really had real love before, or is it love
at all, maybe just "like" instead, or is it
that I'm just not sure? i don't know about anything else, but i think
that i do love you, and i just can't tell you,
and isn't that a shame, because maybe you love me too.
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