I Want To Be Your Poor Life Choice
You walk into this shitty living room with your hair tied up in one of those loops that says I gave up halfway and still look hot as hell
Drop your bag by the door
kick your shoes toward the corner
laugh at the mess and say “every time I come here it looks like a cheap mo-tel
” You talk about the safe person you are supposed to be dating
stable job, good credit score, calls their mom
never once got banned from a bar
Then you drop onto my couch, knee against mine
eyes shining with that same old trouble that dragged you this far.
We both know I am the one your friends call “that guy
” the warning sign
the number they roll eyes at when it lights up your screen
The one with the half-finished projects, loud opinions
no savings, and a body held together by caffeine
You tell me you are finally making better choices
eating vegetables, sleeping more
looking for something that can last
Then you lick a bit of sauce off your thumb in front of me and my whole better judgment shatters on the pass.
I will never be the partner you bring to corporate parties
I am the one you text when you want your brain knocked off script
The one who will still be awake at two
saying “come over, fuck it
” letting the good decisions slip
We are both old enough to know exactly what this is and still young enough to lean right into the grip.
I want to be your poor life choice
the one you pick with a grin and a sigh and a “I really should not but god
just this once
” The number you scroll to when the night feels too quiet and you are sick of being reasonable for more than a month
Let the healthy options wait till morning
let the grown-up version of you sleep on ice
Right now I want your teeth on my neck while you mutter “I hate that this feels so good
” you beautiful terrible vice.
You say your therapist would have a field day with this
write a book about patterns and attachment and all that heavy shit
I say your therapist is probably right
but they are not here watching the way your hands shake when you touch my shirt and commit
You climb into my lap like you never left
like all the vows to move on were made in some other language that melts on my skin
I hold your face, ask one last time “you sure?”
hear that wrecked little “yes
” and let the chaos begin.
I am not stealing you
I am borrowing you from that ideal version of yourself you keep on a shelf like a trophy for later
The one who always flosses and answers emails and never drunk dials an ex or kisses a walking emotional crater
Tonight that perfect “you” can sit this one out while the real you lets their halo slide down a radiator.
I want to be your poor life choice
the one you pick with a grin and a sigh and a “I really should not but god
just this once
” The number you scroll to when the night feels too quiet and you are sick of being reasonable for more than a month
Let the healthy options wait till morning
let the grown-up version of you sleep on ice
Right now I want your teeth on my neck while you mutter “I hate that this feels so good
” you beautiful terrible vice.
One day you are going to stop answering my texts
and honestly
that will be good for you in ways I do not get to see
You will end up with someone who remembers trash day and your coffee order and does not carry a private collapse like me
But even then
some nights you will hear a song that tastes like cheap beer and bad decisions and my front door
And you will smile into your pillow, not calling
just glad that you once let yourself want something wrecked and poor.
Till then I will be your poor life choice
the one you circle back to when you are tired of your own self control
The wrong number you dial on purpose when you need your heart to beat out of line and your body to lose its role
I do not need to be your forever
I will gladly be your bad idea you remember with a laugh and a sting
I want to be your poor life choice tonight
the wrong answer your whole damn nervous system still sings.
When you leave at dawn, hair wild, lipstick faded
shoes in hand
muttering “I gotta stop doing this with you
” I will just smile against the doorframe and think “yeah
but not yet, ” you glorious mistake of a truth.