make it macaroni

when they say i am pretty i don’t believe it mostly. a part of me is tickled by the compliment and i bring it up to perhaps create some guilt in them for how they tricked me into thinking i was special. when, to be in honest in reality i know exactly why they are saying it. they are shoving empty words at an empty face so that she can fill them up with something they need at that moment. more often than not its to temporarily distract them from all the things they can not have. and i want so badly for them to have me and for me to be what they need thats its so easy. you can’t blame them for picking me up and sailing around for a month or two, only to get off at new port where much better things await them. i’ve stared deeply into all their eyes, and mostly i try to search for this thing people speak of in movies and songs and books. the kind of thing i feel towards my  parents or the way the salty water touches my heated body in the middle of july. i try to see if they are looking at me the way i see them. and most often they aren’t. they are looking past me, into something they can’t quite get yet. 

but there are a few times. there are a few times that i look at them and they smile back and i am exactly what they want and what they need right now. and i push those two words “right now” out the window and up into the night sky so that perhaps i can’t see them for the rest of the night. and instead ill assume the time is much more permanent that i can remain like this. happy. wanted.

but the sun always comes up. then i always tell them i have to go and though i want them to so badly none of them ever hug me close and whisper, “wait.”