10-10-22 @ 8:41 pm --Invitations To A Party

 

Destroy me.

Write it on my body in a font so deep in cursive

that no one can read it but you. I wish someone

was here to destroy me with a smile that was meant for me,

and not the smile J offers but doesn’t write it off to me.

It doesn’t say dear insert my name at the start of the letter.

It doesn’t even start with ‘dear’ at all. It’s a linked email with

other participants able to read his wonderments of a laugh,

it’s the display of a canvas he puts with his body, and keeps

it showing like an open book people recommend to read.

He didn’t invite me specifically in this letter to take me

to his amphetamine party. I’ll take pity, sure, but even

that isn’t there on the Hallmark card he sends.

All it underscores is “be there” and he knows that I shall.

Can I be your one party, darling? Could I be your confetti,

the lighter to your candles, the crown you nestle on your head?

I would love to be that to someone. I do not wish to be the invitations,

for you would only use me to send me away to strangers

who wouldn't want to kiss you tenderly with a taste of your tongue

that you used to close the envelope written to me. The ones

who don't know how to feel you the way I wish I would know;

tracing the line of your jaw, nibbles on your small earlobes

both shaped half of a heart, my little whispers of reassurance

of the knowledgeable insecurity of your ridged nose.

no you're not perfect, but more than enough for me

to ever have a chance. Render me speechless, yes,

for every time I'm at a wishing well, begging for you

to make a mistake so I can write you under with

the many people dubbed “unworthy”. Although,

I do fear that your mistakes are useless if not

make you more attractive than before, a little reminder

that you are human. I would not only want to see a mistake,

but I would love to schedule some times during the day

when you can either bump into me or do something

horrible to me incidentally because I know how you’ll react.

When I say “it’s fine, it’s fine really” I mean it. I mean it with

my soul because it was you who has done it, and therefore you

will never even be considered with the word “unworthy”

and if you shall, they are not worthy of you.