sometimes i feel like you don’t even know my name
you call me claire but you don’t know what it means

it means real in french
it means you can’t make me feel this way without my permission
you don’t have it, my permission i mean

it means i didn’t sign above the dotted line
and agree to a racing heart and jagged breaths
and new ways of understanding the word

you know, i’ve never had a boy be kind to me before
that means i might not respond well
to forehead kisses and stolen glances

i’m not here to praise you
i’m here to tell you that i fold
like 5 cards that don’t add up
to a straight, a flush, or ever
a pair

we’re not a pair by the way
you’ve made that clear
i would say crystal clear,
but you understand clear as well as you understand

clear like sand settling after a
crashing wave

clear like a foggy mirror in the bathroom
fingerprints tracing what could be

clear like not clear at all
like i know what you want
but i keep it hidden from you

hiding behind boxes of memories
he left behind
he, not you, built these crumbing walls

walls made of polaroid’s and cigarette smoke
of clothes on the floor
of the same girl making the same mistakes

i get my hopes up too easily
i leave them there
thinking they’ll protect me
from myself

myself, the same girl, claire
the unknown one, the one with golden hair and
a shaky smile
a self-deprecating laugh
a heart that will always be
will never be

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