so today, i decided i would sit down
and write a poem that wasn't about
me or you or what humans are made of (stars)
or where the birds go (north). so instead i'm going to write
a poem about a kid named jacob ragsdale.
jacob's the kind of kid who laughs
with his whole body, like his amusement
cannot be contained to just his eyes and mouth.
he's the kind of boy who threatens to push people in pools,
but never does,
and the kind who threatens to leave
but never can.
jacob has ruined so many things for me,
but i also think he's made them better,
because jacob is one of those people
who can do both at the same time.
see, i sometimes think that if i were
a tornado of physical violence and mediocre insults,
he would be a whirlwind of dry sarcasm
and comments that still sting several minutes after they hit.
"it's a good thing you're wearing a skirt,
because if you were wearing pants, they'd be on fire.
cause you're a liar, liar."
jacob says he still has four little scars on his hand from
that time i stabbed him with a fork
because he hurt my best friend
and no one hurts my friends.
jacob's a mix of kindergarten humor and
words i can never make rhyme; he makes
bets about anything and everything but
always makes sure there are at least two loopholes
so he never has to pay up.
he'll go to his grave claiming he isn't a ginger.
and if you ever meet jacob, i suggest you get used to the fact
that the only way you'll ever get a chance to know him
is if you understand that you never will.
if i wrote a thousand words on stars and birds
and you and me, i could probably understand them—
but i will never be able to understand jacob