JUST A BOY

I met you and I never made you into a poem. You were just a boy with a tattoo and good puns. 

I never romanticized you, you were simple, nothing extraordinary at all.

You were just a boy. 

You had plans and dreams and a shaky past like all the rest of us.

I liked having conversations with you. They were easy. We skipped small talk. I liked that you let me talk about my dreams like they were going to happen.

But you were still just a boy.

I liked sitting next to you at kitchen tables and in coffee shops and I liked how being near you made me feel.

But you were still just a boy.

You said the right things and stayed the right distance and you made me feel important. 

But you were still just a boy.

You held me like I was home. You made me feel safe. We fit. I was comfortable in my skin when it was near yours.

But you were still just a boy.

You held my fears on your tongue and showed me they were okay to say out loud. I said them out loud. You listened.

But you were still just a boy.

I woke up to the door cracked open. You were on the other side. I was holding my heart. You took it like it was yours and slid the glass door shut. I sat down on the floor.

I’m no longer sitting on the floor. I finally stood up. But I am still staring at the door.

You are still just a boy.

I refuse to make a boy a poem. A person doesn’t deserve to have the responsibility of being something so beautiful. 

We are all just people.