Who I Wasn’t Going to Be

I wasn't going to be the head-over-heels, can't-see-straight kind of lover

The writer of shitty 3-AM poems to accompany my heartbeats

The curfew-skipping, fuck-the-clock ne'er-do-well who overusues hyphens because all the thoughts in my brain slide closer together when you're involved

so that I can't separate "love" from "vanilla" so I make vanilla-love memories or "me" from "you" so I make a you-me symphony

how do I stick your sighs to paper like I stick anti-racism propaganda to people's rear windshields using chewing gum?

can I tape your heart in place for posterity?

I'm handcuffed to the sky so I don't do you the injustice of trying to put you in a poem.