I should be reading about politics.

I should be reading about politics,

but your scrawl is all over the bedroom wall

and your handwriting is more legible than 56 men

and your eyes make more sense than any chapter in this book.

I should be studying you,

your laugh lines;

your last lines,

before you go.

I should be studying the way you close your eyes a little when I touch your hair,

the hints that line your letters

the open-ended discussions about all the food we're going to eat,

the country we're not from,

how long it takes to pick your socks.

But your head is in the south,

your heart is still beating under the roof your parents pay for,

and I should be reading about politics.

I should be reading about politics

because I thought I ruled the world

but they said the world rules me;

and I listened through tight breaths

as a piece of paper convinced me that I don't rule this globe

because I'm not the hands that keep it spinning.

I didn't do anything to deserve

ruling the world.

I'm going to read about politics,

how the smart ones lose their minds

and the beautiful ones are playthings

and how I can't stop the paper planes from changing course

because I didn't do anything

to rule the world.