To Tell You What I Meant

It was such a cliché to say you're “different.”

It would be better and worse to tell you what I meant:

I had to bench my whole lineup of little lies

Because they're not true, and not enough, at the same time.

I also had to throw out my playbook, endless pages of humor,

Out of fear that once you hit me, I'd drop every word.

For your sake, I could start to like money or wine,

Yet all I gave for you was the lamest of lines.