Radio Silence

You deserve better.
That's what they always say,
your friends
and those other friends
on the other side of the bridge
(the part that's not on fire).
I always wanted those
Technicolor dreams,
those sharp clichés
that click off the tongue
in quick succession,
like little bullets.
I fucking hate what they say.
I hate it because
they don't actually know.
I want them to actually know.
Are you better for me?
Do you know who is?
Will I meet him at Acme
next to the asparagus?
Will we get high together
at a tiny party?
Will he tease me for how I hold
my cigarette
(a little too close to others)?
Will he help me color my hair
to match my frustration,
all Technicolor and everyday?
I don't want to hurt
but I hurt everyday.
I want a love that pauses
between breaths
to admire a fragile moment.
Because I am fragile.
Because I deserve to be seen.
I deserve better.