Park Benches and Polaroids

love me when the sun is up

do not love me when i am broken

and leave when I finally have a smile

with full teeth and joy.

do not love me when i am hurting

over a shallow wound in the chest

and think that foul weather is the only time

you can ask me how are you doing?

is it still bleeding out,

or is it patched up for now?

only to vanish when I message back,

I stitched it shut on my own, 

I feel so much better now.

do not give me advice and then

disappear when i do not need it anymore,

for i am not a plaything full of poorly written dramas

for you to tune into on Sunday and forget by Monday until next week

when its reasonable to enjoy pitying over the young girl

with all those attackers, relentless, 

when she makes sobbing sounds into her pillow on summer nights where she could have been out,

tears spilling into everything,

but never truly deciding

to take it upon yourself to guide her, give her company

through the hazy forest she's trapped in.

You point in a direction that will

help her continue through the path a little more, the danger darker each step,

since you are enjoying the story and your role in it

much more than investing yourself in a different character.

do not aid me

to help your own fragile ego,

corrupted from within,

to remind yourself I must be a good person,

look at me, I cleaned this pretty girl's cut

after a monster tore at her

and no one else did

so I'm so kind, look at me, I'm better than the other boys,

more than any of them because I helped her, you know,

and I'm good enough, right?

You should like me now, right?

Right?