When I told you I like you, I meant the earth stopped spinning for a second I saw how the stars looked that night too Star is a magical word. When I told you I like you, I meant I spun magic around the stars, I carefully placed them in words, the magic never broke its shell When I told you I like you, I meant the moon stopped changing shapes This was an unusual bright and light When I told you I like you I meant I danced around the moon mountains Weighless as a cloud on a clear sky When I told you I like you I meant I was jumping from one cloud to another I was floating around in air smelling like strawberries When I told you I like you I meant I found a strawberry forest I named each strawberry after you, and I ate them. When I told you I like you I meant it rained that night, it's December All the drops sung the verse "you like him" in chorus When I told you I like you I meant I taught me to like me, To practice on how to like you When I told you I like you I meant the room was frozen in time And that it moved only for me and you When I told you I like you I meant, I am good with words, I'll untie the knots I know exactly what poets write about When I told you I like you You told me "I like you too" When I told you I like you, I meant everything I said and beyond When you told me you like me I stood there with a big bowl, I caught the stars the moon the rain and the clouds The earth had started spinning again, Magic broke its shell Why? When I told you I like you, I know you liked it When you told me you like me, You meant, " I like that you like me"
What do you call it? What do you call the wobbly feet,walking past the air doors, That dissolves into cold mist What name do you give for the sleazy thoughts, Wandering picking up pebbles and stones on the street, every time you try to lay off What do you call the re-assuring nights, Knowing you lay next to a body, That spent each tick of the clock mouthing water words, Only to wake up next day seeing you slept in a glass-daisy-garden, Each of them looking so alike, Breaking in all touch of yours. What do you call the empty days You mimicing the action of one sitting next to you, You've forgotten the act of laughing Also forgotten how to stop it, only to be a bizzare person crawling around. What do you call the half-full days, You regain your memory on the lessons your mother taught you, "How to be a happy child", Also wishing you forgot them, Being happy can only mean,"you're crying tomorrow" What do you call the early mornings you kill, Creating mind maps on, How to get your body out of bed into shower, You know there's a river flowing next to you, And sometimes, on you to get back into your bed. What do you call the distress that rushes in, Hearing the buzzing of your phone, and your friend asking, "Why don't you have a ringtone?" And you don't answer both. Also, what do you call all that hate you have for yourself, That part of your heart, no man can grow a tree inside, And you warn them of the draught they're about to witness. It doesn't matter what you call, Names, doesn't call for healing.