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Never Tell A Soul

There are some things that I’ll never tell you.

I’ll never tell you that I have a great fear of being forgotten
Athazagoraphobia
is what it’s called, I think.
Because I wish I were like a fine-tipped pen,
leaving indelible marks on every surface I touch:
I wouldn’t worry then.

I’ll never tell you that sometimes I watch
A Hard Day’s Night
far, far too loud
and when Daddy shoutss above its volume
I never tell him that I only keep it that loud because
maybe if it’s loud enough, I can close my eyes
and pretend that I am there with them,
the loves of my life.

I’ll never tell you that I can’t stand
the way you
look at her, and the way you talk about her,
because she has a chance at love
and you don’t.
And it breaks my heart just a little.

I’ll never tell you that I think you’re beautiful
so very very beautiful
and that my heart beats a little quicker
every time you look at me and when you
laugh your shivery nervous laugh
and although the feeling’s now passed
I can’t get it out of my head.


I’ll never tell you that all I want is someone
to write a song for me
I need some sort of evidence,
some sort of tangible love
that I can carry round with me
until the day I die
and then maybe I won’t forget
or I won’t be forgotten.



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