Alyssa Milano has been under more athletes than astro turf
(I am still fascinated by Hannah’s five minute poems. This one, I think, ran just a little bit long. But it was an unedited stream of consciousness kind of deal regardless.)
Sometimes because I’m me
I say things like “Is it really
hiding if nobody is seeking?”
Right? But I don’t think that
is what she wants to hear.
Not that I know. If I could
say one thing and one thing
only, to her, I’d probably say,
“I just like you.” Cause I do.
I really do. And if I said that
and if she wasn’t moved? I’d be
cool. On the outside. Playing it
off like I’m a lover of honesty and
am ever so glad I said it and things
won’t, you know, change between us
and all the while I’ll be jotting “i’m
the parade and she’s the rain” on
a piece of paper that wants no
part of this business. And some
song will play, written by some
other jackass about some other
girl and it will be forever linked
to this moment for me and I’ll
hate it until I don’t any more.
And I’ll constantly recap and
rehash it in my head as if it was
a tv show and I missed the last episode
because I was busy or something.
Previously on “Putting it Out There.”
And the show would star the daughter
from “Who’s The Boss” because
she was good in that movie in the
nineties where she cleaned pools.
And the day would come where we
could hang out and I wouldn’t feel
sad anymore. And the burn of
embarrassment would only be a one alarm
job. You’d tell your stories and I’d tell mine.
That’d be cool. It would. And then I’d say,
“I still really like you” and fuck everything up.