megan-b-poetry - Hello Poetry

I got my first kiss over with. It's done. It felt weird, we were just smushing our faces together- I didn't get how people did it for fun. I felt anxious for a good couple days after we kissed- I felt tainted and embarrassed, as if everyone knew how pitiful the situation was. I barely ate. I remember when I told them about it, my friends said they were proud of me, which I thought was a really weird reaction to it. Especially since I didn't feel proud, I felt ashamed.

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Oct 19, 2018

Oct 19, 2018 at 7:10 PM UTC

megan-b-poetry

A Stolen Kiss

I got my first kiss over with. It's done. It felt weird, we were just smushing our faces together- I didn't get how people did it for fun. I felt anxious for a good couple days after we kissed- I felt tainted and embarrassed, as if everyone knew how pitiful the situation was. I barely ate. I remember when I told them about it, my friends said they were proud of me, which I thought was a really weird reaction to it. Especially since I didn't feel proud, I felt ashamed.

6

What has this boy done to me? Life would be so much easier if I could just forget he ever existed and go back to how things were. I wouldn't have to worry about time zones or having to get up early or go to sleep late or getting money to travel or the lonely heartache I feel when we hang up. I wouldn't have to worry about schedules or the time it takes to mail a package there or if we communicate well or if I'm a good girlfriend or the distant but ever-present doubts that this won't work out and it's all a waste of time. What has he done to me? But then I look in his eyes... and see his smile, and hear his laugh. What has he done to me? Because suddenly none of those other things matter that much. They all become bearable at the sound of his voice. Everything is worth it at every "I love you," uttered, at every "We can do this, we can make it." sent at 2 in the morning. All the troubles fade at the promise of the future being better than today. Being better than the hypothetical today in which he, and all the pain, never existed. I've come to truly believe this. And I choose to endure the pain. What has he done to me?

0

Apr 3, 2018

Apr 3, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC

megan-b-poetry

What has he done to me?

What has this boy done to me? Life would be so much easier if I could just forget he ever existed and go back to how things were. I wouldn't have to worry about time zones or having to get up early or go to sleep late or getting money to travel or the lonely heartache I feel when we hang up. I wouldn't have to worry about schedules or the time it takes to mail a package there or if we communicate well or if I'm a good girlfriend or the distant but ever-present doubts that this won't work out and it's all a waste of time. What has he done to me? But then I look in his eyes... and see his smile, and hear his laugh. What has he done to me? Because suddenly none of those other things matter that much. They all become bearable at the sound of his voice. Everything is worth it at every "I love you," uttered, at every "We can do this, we can make it." sent at 2 in the morning. All the troubles fade at the promise of the future being better than today. Being better than the hypothetical today in which he, and all the pain, never existed. I've come to truly believe this. And I choose to endure the pain. What has he done to me?

31

I want to be mysterious I want to be the kind of girl who leaves pieces of herself with different people, all around the world so that no one knows her full story but it is all there for some potential dedicated soul to discover. I want to be a puzzle that everyone thinks they have figured out and all I do is smirk because they have no idea what they're talking about. I want my life to seem effortless my world falls gracefully into place around me to the wonder of everyone else but all according to my plan. But that is not me. I love fiercely, and with reckless abandon. I tell the world my story in hopes that someone will care enough about it to stick around to watch the rest of it to play out. I care. Deeply. About a lot of things. So much so that it hurts. I stop to watch squirrels munch on their dinner and would much rather talk to a child about nothing at all than have an adult conversation. I am not mysterious. I am no puzzle. Nothing about me is effortless. I am an open book with her heart on her sleeve yearning and searching for true human connection somewhere in this vast cold expanse. But what's so wrong with that?

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Apr 3, 2018

Apr 3, 2018 at 10:47 PM UTC

megan-b-poetry

Effortless

I want to be mysterious I want to be the kind of girl who leaves pieces of herself with different people, all around the world so that no one knows her full story but it is all there for some potential dedicated soul to discover. I want to be a puzzle that everyone thinks they have figured out and all I do is smirk because they have no idea what they're talking about. I want my life to seem effortless my world falls gracefully into place around me to the wonder of everyone else but all according to my plan. But that is not me. I love fiercely, and with reckless abandon. I tell the world my story in hopes that someone will care enough about it to stick around to watch the rest of it to play out. I care. Deeply. About a lot of things. So much so that it hurts. I stop to watch squirrels munch on their dinner and would much rather talk to a child about nothing at all than have an adult conversation. I am not mysterious. I am no puzzle. Nothing about me is effortless. I am an open book with her heart on her sleeve yearning and searching for true human connection somewhere in this vast cold expanse. But what's so wrong with that?

31

I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them about my kindness, about how I donated my birthday money when I was ten and refuse to listen to anyone's negative self-talk. I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them about my passion, about how I put my entire heart into everything I do and my eyes light up when talking about something I love. I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them about my intelligence, about how I could discuss neurological models all day and see each academic challenge as a puzzle to be solved. I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them how perfect we are for each other, about how we both think that morning is when you wake up, regardless of time, and fully accept each other for who we are. I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them, "Oh, but she is so much more."

0

Jan 8, 2018

Jan 8, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC

megan-b-poetry

When They Tell You I'm Pretty

I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them about my kindness, about how I donated my birthday money when I was ten and refuse to listen to anyone's negative self-talk. I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them about my passion, about how I put my entire heart into everything I do and my eyes light up when talking about something I love. I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them about my intelligence, about how I could discuss neurological models all day and see each academic challenge as a puzzle to be solved. I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them how perfect we are for each other, about how we both think that morning is when you wake up, regardless of time, and fully accept each other for who we are. I hope when they tell you I'm pretty you tell them, "Oh, but she is so much more."

18

That sweatshirt. He had stolen it from me to keep himself warm on those cold summer nights. He gave it its own unique smell. At the time it smelled safe, like I was home, like happiness, like him. But now it is fall. I put that sweatshirt on this morning, and now that same scent just makes me feel forgotten. And like my sweatshirt needs a wash.

0

Dec 31, 2017

Dec 31, 2017 at 4:39 PM UTC

megan-b-poetry

Forgotten

That sweatshirt. He had stolen it from me to keep himself warm on those cold summer nights. He gave it its own unique smell. At the time it smelled safe, like I was home, like happiness, like him. But now it is fall. I put that sweatshirt on this morning, and now that same scent just makes me feel forgotten. And like my sweatshirt needs a wash.

12