Crush

Crush.

There's a reason that the way I feel
for you
is called a crush.
The verb is depressingly apt.
The weight of it all really does,
really has
crushed me

like a giant boulder of reality resting
on my fantasy
tiny gravelly painful pieces replaces the butterflies
they sing about.

Being around you doesn't make me fuzzy or giggly
it makes me physically sick.
What if I said something stupid and you hated me
forever
What if you disliked my laugh or you thought I was weird
Or
god forbid what if
I accidentally spat a bit on your face...

There'd be no coming back from that.

Even the back of your head makes me anxious and sweaty.
My friend said
'try to be subtle
but still
catch his eye'
But I’ve not quite perfected this skill.

You've probably notices that girl
who stares
deranged and drooling
but looks down at her feet whenever
you glance.

I tried to talk to you a week ago but
someone stole my breath.
I don't believe in perfection but
I believe you come close
When you smile or you laugh or you smirk or you sneeze.
Even the way you scratch your neck
makes me go all cliché
and weak at the knees.

I saw you today out and about with a girl
you were holding her hand and
kissing her nose and
I hid behind a clothes rack breaking a little
inside.

I could tell you were in love with her.

I wanted to set fire to her.