i wish i could have that sweet 16 kind of romance.

kisses that are ardent and chaste
not forced, feeling like a mouthful of nails

hugs that are comforting and soft
instead of repulsive, a cage i violently try to break free of

hands that are holding mine, a loving reminder and consistent warmth
not calloused extremities stealing me by the wrist towards my demise

words that are gentle and sincere (beautiful, talented, queen),
instead of ones described only as ***** (***-****, *****, *****)

intimacy that arrives only if and when i'm ready, youthful and gentle
not ****** onto me years before sweet 16, hardly intimate but instead bluntly illicit

bodies (especially mine) that are unscarred, untainted, unused
not the opposite, crusted in an inscrutable filth impossible to remove

love that is fun and bright, something I can boast to all my friends
not a sickening attraction shrouded in the depths of my mind, only to see the light through poetry written in the early hours...

i wish, i wish, i wish.

i wish i could have that sweet 16 kind of romance!

but i don't.
wishes are just flimsy desires; a tear-soaked plead to the void of night, words on a poem no one may care to read, something i say as i blow out the candles. hopeful and yet, hopeless.

so, i'm still 16. and at least my favorite dessert is sweet. but the romance? ha! my romance is dead; burnt to ashes, like a delicate rose bathed in kerosene and set alight by the burning match of a devil's lust.

hell is a place where
you constantly love those that
do not love you back.

creamy crunchy
eat it when im hungry
with some jelly
all the time, munchy
whole wheat white bread
ends up yummy
toasted or plain, always in my tummy!

music feeds my soul.
stories lasting centuries,
somehow made my own.
no more than a few minutes each;
every second well spent, harmony surrounds me.

Roses, candy, and boys, sweet as can be
All on this cold February day, as far as I can see
My heart is frigid, and no one wishes to warm me.