i want to be a poet

you are the song on repeat in my head.
i've been saying that i want to be a poet, i want to be a poet.
it's not like you haven't known that for every breath i take means another phrase passed through your lips.
it doesn't get much better than a handful of tacks, taxing in nature, sleek in design.

you are the thief that stole the thoughts in my head.
i want to be a poet, i want to be a poet.
you mirrored my actions by taking my supposed profession.
good thing i'm decent at adaptation.

i want to be a poet for the pasty faced kids who trail fingers across their many lovers' lips and tell them that nights are nights in all their rights -
nothing is as perfect as the slap of skin and the lyrical breathing of being in heat with the windows open during the winter.

i want to be a poet for hisorher brittle bones, that creak and shiver when it snows.
desperate to be covered in innocence but not so innocent as to be covered in desperation.

i want to be a poet for all the hearts riddled with holes, busted at the seams and displaying their cotton stuffing like a badge of honor.
"look at me, i'm damaged goods. that should make you love me more."

i want to be a poet for you.