Lines

Lines

 

Lines and names are essentially the same.

 

You don’t call me that.

That name has too much connotation,

Too much resentment.

That name has too many memories.

 

So then what’s left?

Certainly not clichés.

I’ve ruled them out.

Along with that other phrase.

 

The new ones:

Gorgeous       Transcending

Daring            Infatuating

Dear               Tempting

Things you think I’d like to hear.

 

So why are these all lines too?

Right there that you whisper in my ear.

 

Other girls heard these names too

Fall from your lips my love.

The same way I heard that name before

By guys I was only a booty call for.

 

The writer is trained so perfectly.

All of us are.

To use and manipulate words,

For good and for spar.

 

There’s hardly a name in the book

That hasn’t been used

To describe the other half’s muse.

 

So no not that one.

There he tried to get in my pants.

Nor that one.

Used by d-bags who hardly give a second glance.

 

There are Lines and Lines

On top of more Lines used as confines

Each a slightly different design used by human-like porcupines.

 

I happen to know she heard that one.

I happen to know when he said that I knew we were done.

 

Because lines and names are essentially the same

And I have no desire to fall within that cliché frame.

 

Yet!

 

They all get mad when I’m not affectionate like that.

When the way I see it,

There’s only one of you who is mine.

 

Now try and count:

How many “babes” there’s been.

 

Try and count how many women

Were called:

Sweetie            Honey             Babe                Angel

Cutie               Doll                 Flawless

 

And worst of all:         queen               and      goddess.

 

Instead

There’s only one of you.

Only one, and only

One that’s mine.

Never to be summarized in a singular line.

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