I know you wrote a song about me.
I haven't heard it but, I want to.
I want to know who you see.
I want to know what I feel like on your palms.
I want to know why it's me you think about.
I know I shouldn't ask but, would you show me?
Even if just for 3 minutes.

i'm sorry.

i'm sorry mum for
the late nights and broken hearts,
the bruises and the thongs you don't remember buying.

i'm sorry dad for
the screaming fights and slammed doors,
the eye rolls and the endless amounts of boy tears.

you guys deserve better.
but i thank you for not giving up on me.

you will never forget me,
i’m the one who’s name will stain your lips and
the memory of me is as
vivid as neon lights
my touch will give you goose bumps when i’m gone and
the sound of my voice will ring like bells everywhere you go.
you can’t forget me.

when i moved my hands down your back
my fingers danced along to the rhythm of your pulse.
a surge of bolts erupted from our skin
like that of a 23-foot power line, yet
so innocent.
a tingle, an itch.
our voices played the same song
that still makes my ears ring.

my words mean nothing to you,
do they?
all you want are the raw images of
lacy curves and hairless thighs,
the sound of my breathing and the way
my name sounds so good rolling off
your tongue.
it's as if when i say "hello"
all you hear is "ready, set, go"
my words mean nothing to you,
do they?