Oh you were such a good sport
Until pretty recently,
bulldozing my way through fear
had been a survival tactic
And you tried to let me work through it
Right there in the middle of the Cheesecake Factory
Over the driest club sandwich I’ve ever eaten
But I do not know how to be charming
while my amygdala is telling me
that dinner is some kind of emergency
Woah woah woah,
I understand what you’re asking me for,
but that is not my style.
I’m not going to pretend
I didn’t consider it.
No, the problem is
I did consider it
and then I couldn’t breathe.
You have smoked every cigarette on earth
right before you asked me to dance.
You showed me the steps, how to frame up.
“You hate me,” you said,
which created the tension to let you lead.
“You hate all men” you said,
but I don’t, I don’t.
It’s just, this is a lot of eye contact
And a lot of…contact-contact
“Look up here, not at my chest” you said.
But I was looking further down—
NO NO YOUR FEET I MEANT YOUR FEET
It was all I could do not to bolt from the dance floor,
trembling from your polite, terrifying charm.