...Like Hangnails on Sweatersleeves

Hi, I'm Jon
Yes I'm the millionth person to start a poem introducing myself
And I won't pretend I'm not a little bit sorry for that
Hi, I'm Jon: I write poetry, sort of; I sing, sort of; I play drums mostly
And I apologize if I tell you that I play guitar in an attempt to impress you
Because I don't really play it
So much as I shape my hand how I think it's supposed to go
And hope that what comes out sounds at least decent enough for punk rock
Hi, I'm Jon and that last line described every significant relationship I've had
Which is to say I don't feel comfortable calling myself a guitarist

Hi, I'm Jon, and if you would let me
I would tell you about all the bands you should totally check out
Because they're great, I mean, they only have like, one 5 song EP but I saw them at NYP and I promise you'll love them
Hi, I'm Jon; I'm a sucker for a smile and a setting
I am made of obscure pop culture references
Which probably means that I sound like a complete idiot, but don't let that fool you
I really am an idiot (That's a reference)

I feel like an idiot for crushing this hard
But I crush like a hydraulic press
And I fall in love like losing my footing at the top of an impossibly tall staircase
I am the slinky on the steps of that scene in Ace Ventura, and Cupid is Jim Carey

Hi, I'm Jon, and I'm sorry that I'm the absolute worst at this
And by "this", I mean functioning within a ten foot radius of someone as attractive as you
I'm not really a human so much as a greyhound in a human costume
And the jury is out on whether it's nerves, excitement
Or the caffeine buzz that is the source of my shaking
I'm sorry that I do that irritating thing that all guys do
And by "that thing", I mean breathing

Hi, I'm Jon, and I'm already a cup of coffee
And an extended conversation away from falling in love with you
And I feel way too old to be acting like this
But then again, Mark Hoppus wrote the lyrics
"We'll pretend that you think that I'm the man of your dreams come to life in a dive bar"
While in his 40's and married with a child
But this isn't a dive bar; it's the internet
And I am not Mark Hoppus, But
I wouldn't mind being alone with your smile

Not to imply that I would pull any stunts if we were alone, let's be honest
I am also not Hobo Johnson: no stunt-puller from birth
And the only stunt being pulled
Here is an army of cupids firing volley of heart-shaped arrows into my chest
Before the month of February has even begun
I wonder- If you got caught in the crossfire

I wonder if you look both ways when you cross my mind
Because it's a busy four-lane highway every single time
I wonder what kind of things make you laugh
What kind of movies make you cry
What kind of songs make you dance
I wonder if any of that means anything to you at all

I wanna know so badly
But every time I think I have the courage to shoot my shot, I retreat
To the permanence of mystery; uncomfortable, but not unfamiliar
I wonder if I'm just wasting my time, and if so, that's fine
I can only imagine how many swarms of other guys have thrown themselves at you
In an attempt to land in your passenger seat
Which is to say, I may end up a bug on your windshield
But- The chance to be that close to you seems pretty worth the risk