cliché

i hate being cliché

i really do,

but when it comes to you,

i never know what else to be.

staying up until the clock strikes 11 past 11,

just so i can ask for that simple thing

love

i hate being cliché,

but the first thing that crosses my mind when i see 

a star sliding through the inky night,

is your face, your handsome, terrible face

i reach out my hand, hoping i can touch the image of you

you

i hate being cliché,

but soon, there is nothing else to do

but hope for a life where i can hold your hand in mine 

without it being a dream

my lips brush the fuzzy, bloomed dandelion

as i breathe out the hope that maybe one day you will care,

maybe you will care as much as i do

i watch as those umbrellas, 

floating on a mere dream,

carry themselves into the wind

i hate being cliché,

but when i find a stray eyelash or two

littering my blushed face,

i can't help but whisper your name 

as i flick it into the abyss

i toss my last coin into the fountain of desire

squeezing my eyes shut as my lips form a single word

please

every year

when my day comes around

the one my family has dedicated to me

when they light those candles,

i watch the flames,

wondering if you would wish for me too,

but i know how much you hate being cliché