You see them laughing like a maniac while you narrate the comedy movie you saw, with your mom the other day.
It’s funny
Strange too, that you don’t laugh as much as they do.
It sickens you to see them slapping your thighs along with theirs, not being able to control their laughter.
Why does it bother you?
‘Unpolished’ you call it.
You tell them to be comfortable at your house because it’s metaphorically theirs too
But.
You mind them sitting with their legs spread and their heads resting on your couch.
You tell them about their sluggish eyes,
which consistently give you inkling that they want to get laid
when, all that there’s buried, is the sleep deprivation owning to the 3 am crying sessions.
You tell them that you would rather jump off a cliff than eat your mama’s food.
Funny how he doesn’t have anyone who’d make food with similar love, and
so the uncomfortable silence proceeded with disagreement irks you.
How often do you not point out somebody’s blushing red cheeks and not ask about it
How often do you walk away not staring at her bald head and make a joke
How often do you try to raise your lowered eyes stuck at her uncovered legs
How often do you not point out the stained pants she’s walking around with and take her to an isolated neck of woods
How often do you stop being a jerk
How often
do you
just
let the person be.
Remember.
All the smiling faces that make you wonder the reason behind their … just smiling
Or the person they’re in love with;
Because to you, there always has to be a reason to be happy.
Try not to be the jacket of thorns they’ve just come out of
successfully, again.
Don’t flood their bodies with your unsolicited judgements and question marks
when they tell you that,
they had a great night with the love of their lives.
Don’t make them have second thoughts on choosing to be happy.
Don’t.
If you want to be, something
Be their all glass bathroom door where they can paint smiling emojis with their fingers.
Their ‘switch to shortcut’, when they’re stuck in a puddle of ifs and buts.
Their karaoke for the love songs,
The person just one call away,
The one who’d make singing “I believe I can fly” not a great deal for them.
Their fat free chocolate cake,
Their lullaby,
Their emergency room.
The one who makes it the best, the most beautiful thing in the world to constantly gaze at the moon.
The one who tells them it’s okay to over think some, most, all the time.
One who tells them that it’s okay to not care about wearing matching socks and making poems rhyme.
Someone who hears.
One who’d know that
It’s okay to widdle while being swamped with happy tears.
