Why do you write in lowercase?
Why do you keep talking about love, about heartache?
I don’t want to hear about your sadness.
Tell me about the peach trees. About the cherry blossoms,
or the way you smiled at baby Groot.
(I know you did.)
Tell me your equivalent of eating yellow paint,
tell me how the cold made your feet curl.
Did you ask the barista for iced coffee?
I want to know if you laughed at Jimmy Fallon tonight.
Tell me about fairy lights, or leather boots,
or the way the bubbles looked against the incoming traffic.
I don’t want to know your misery anymore.
i don’t even know what makes you happy // bluestruckholly