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:
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.
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
Sweetie Honey Babe Angel
Cutie Doll Flawless
And worst of all: queen and goddess.
There’s only one of you.
Only one, and only
One that’s mine.
Never to be summarized in a singular line.