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So I have a boyfriend.
And it’s not him.
Someone else attempted
to whisk me away and
I let them, not really
out feelings of safety
and comfort,
but rather feelings of
helplessness and lust.
And I am going along
with this whole girlfriend role,
playing the part
to pass the time.
I honestly don’t believe
that anything will come of this.
We will kiss
and we will fool around,
but in the end,
and there will be an end,
it will amount to nothing.
He will leave,
and I may cry,
though the tears
do not seem very eminent.
Hell I may even leave him
when it comes down to it.
The truth of the matter is
I am in love with someone else.
Not even you this time.
About six months ago
I gave my heart away to someone
and I never really got it back.
The funny thing is
I don’t really want it back.
I want the one I love to have it,
to hold it. Because I know,
like I know my name
is in fact my name,
that he will never harm
it’s beating mass.
He will never break me,
never beat me down,
never let me fall.
Even if I happen to fall
for other reasons,
he will be there,
carefully putting the pieces
back together again.
So I have a boyfriend.
And he is nothing more
than something to fill
my arms when I am cold.
A jacket that I will end up
taking off, casting aside,
even if the person I truly want
never does come.
Because I gave my heart away
a while ago, and I don’t ever
want it back.