when i was 15, a boy with a fake tooth and emerald eyes
took me to a steep hill and attempted to throw
me over his shoulder.
the grass was freshly wet, so we slipped and my knees bounced.
a school night, he invited me in his parents car and
we sat side by side in the back.
my throat was full of barbwire and i couldn’t move, my knees
burning, my arms rigid. a boy with subtle eyelashes told me i was cool,
but the barbwire traveled through legs.
we used to watch movies until he got bored and i fell in love
too quickly, shivering between his legs, his fingers
pulsing bruises.
when i was 17 i fell in love with a chain smoker and a man
who couldn’t grow up. except no, it wasn’t love. perhaps pity,
but i liked his large hands and how he had seen the world through
tar tinted glasses.
he told me we had to make love,
and when we finally did a year later, Watchmen in the background,
i felt my skin shredding, my freckles finding new pockets.
my knees were still bruised.
when i was 18 i fell in love with a boy who knew nothing,
except he had a fetish for Asian girls and not being able to
commit.
when he choked me for the first time i thought i died and for a minute
i was so
happy.
for two years he placed circles around my feet, telling me i was
beautiful, but never just beautiful
enough. when i told him to stop yelling, he said i was too
weak.
when i was 21 i fell in love with a boy who didn’t force anything
but love
and understanding. he took his fingers and place heart shaped
bruises, kissing my skin until i burned.
on nights i couldn’t breathe he’d take me to the window
and place his palms upon my cheeks. i found moths within
his hair, and instead of saying don’t cry, he wipe tears away
and hold my hand.
when i was 21 i finally found out that love is meant to spend sunday
mornings making love until your bodies end and begin end
and begin end and begin. and making breakfast is better
with his arms around your
waist.
21 and i am in love with a boy,
22 is around the corner, and i will still be
in
love.