Untitled
Cuyjet Rodriguez
You don’t have to understand why I like her.
Who said anyone’s physical value was based on what your
small-minded, shallow, emotionally-detached,
publicity-obsessed, self thought?
You don’t have to understand how she reminds me of rain.
How her presence washes away all the dirt I’m covered in,
and makes me feel as if I can grow.
You don’t have to like how her smile stops time,
or the way her laugh echoes through me.
You can think whatever about her
because you don’t know her.
You don’t know how her own jokes make her fall over.
How she can’t keep a straight face when I look at her.
How she likes to steal my rings and wear them, even
though they don’t fit.
How she feigns anger whenever I don’t listen.
Or
How she likes to be alone when she cries.
How fragile she is underneath her smart-ass mouth.
How often she throws stones in her glass house.
You don’t know her at all.
Yet you have so much to say.