On a Friday the Thirteenth
i Count the stars in the sky in my eyes. Pluck them and keep them in your palm. Hold on to one, two, or three hours that you and I had: my memories should be your memories too. ii I bury my face in your hands your soft, warm hands which are bigger than mine. Don't use them to push me away from your sadness: your sadness should be my sadness too. iii i am your puppet without strings attached to my hands and feet. You make me dance to your tune. You make my heart skip to your beat. I have tangled emotions: your music should be my music too. iv Say you care about my rough feet my rough hands my rough face about whether I heal or die. i do not want to be a file. i don't want to lose myself in misery nor in a crowd i'll hold you to a promise you made (can I count on your memory?): your promise should be my promise too. v I'll give you liberty to hook my fingers with yours to catch me when i teeter and fall to call me names other than my own (i do not like mine) in return, I want your cynical remarks your critical observations your honest opinion my happiness back: my happiness should be your happiness too.