Store-bought boy

Your words are store-bought. But you can’t buy my heart, though you bite it with your cowardice.

You’re cheap baby. Like cigarettes, like the love you tried to trade me with.

But you can’t have me. You can’t even know me. Because you are store-bought.

To me—you are pretend.

Make me cry, my eyes will crystal. No tears, no love for store-bought, for my coward named pretend.

Make me laugh, my jaw will widen, no sound will exit. No tone, no truth for store-bought, for my coward named pretend.

Wanna play baby? I’ll play. I’ll even let you win. Because I’m not store-bought. I’m not cheap. Like you, and your friend pretend.

Stop demoralizing yourself to my verbs. Stop subjecting yourself to my pen. Stop making it so easy. Breezy like a sunday morning, the way you hand me material like it didn’t cost you a penny, cheap—like cocaine off the street.

Stop acting store-bought. Stop playing with your friend pretend. Stop making me famous. It’s boring.

You’re winning. Top shelf of the window, I walk by, glance up and see your smile….it’s still, your dimples pressed in, don’t budge. You’ve turned into your friend pretend. I could purchase you with pennies, I don’t even want to. Because it’s too easy. Breezy, like a sunday morning.
You are store-bought. Your words stem from your friend pretend.

But you can’t buy my heart, so keep biting it— with your cowardice.

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