(I mean it Ma,
Click back now
I’d rather not scar you
Or cost us even more money
On therapy)**

The first time I had ***
I felt horribly guilty afterwards
I can only guess as to why

Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
The one thrusting and holding her up

The one that didn’t get to ***
The first go around
The one to wash their fingers clean in the aftermath

While the ‘girl’ wiped up her nether regions
Put her pants back on
And remained in an ‘aftersex’ glow

Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
That I was the one that ‘took’ something

But whatever the reason
Is irrelevant because within days
This guilt faded

As did any taste of regret
Vaguely reminiscent of the
Taste of her ***

And replacing said guilt
Was love; strong and (now) poignant
Beyond my years

And she is gone; literally so,

Thus replacing said love
Was pain; strong and poignant
Beyond my years

Replacing said pain
Was another type
Quite common of my age

A madly bruised hand
To be exact;
Courtesy of my teenage idiocy

Replacing my physical pain and idiocy
Was another girl
One that could never be ‘her’

I cannot kiss this girl
It’s all so different
All so ******* wrong

I can’t stand her braces
And the taste of sour milk
That is always marinating in her mouth

I can’t stand this girl
But it is not her fault
It’s, to mimic a cliché,

It’s me, not her
And I am, genuinely,
Sorry for her


But I am so, extremely, pathetically
More sorry
For myself

They tell us to forget
Our past flames
And our broken romances

But I do not want to forget
Because I can still remember
So, so, so many things

I can remember
That time you said
That I just made you “so, so so happy”

That you loved the way
I lit up into a goofy smile
When you did certain things

That the thought of us
Together into even adulthood
Was a lovely thought

They tell us to forget
Our past flames
And our broken romances

But why, why why
Why would I ******* want to forget
Those things, how you made me feel

Even if you don’t
Feel them or say them
Anymore

The thought of those times
Makes me so so so
**** happy

And yet the thought of those times
Makes me so so so
**** sad

Oh
Maybe that’s why
Well then

Just call me
Ms. Self Destructive
Then

We sit in a café
Ceramic mugs of
Seasonally appropriate beverages
Wrapped in our grips

Surrounded by folks who also have
Ceramic mugs of
Seasonally appropriate beverages
Wrapped in their grips

But we are not here
To chat on about the weather
Our significant others
Or careers; no

We certainly are not
You glance at me
In a nearly
Conversational manner

“So you had your heartbroken”
You say, a combination of an
Unsurprised sneer and a nostalgic frown
Upon your face

“So I had my heartbroken”
I repeat, my lips cracked and my mouth
Blistering slowly from the heat
Of my seasonally appropriate beverage

“Are you, like the good little kid you are,
Doing the things
That they tell good little kids
To do in order to recover from such an ordeal?”

“I am, like the good little kid I am,
Doing the things
That they tell good little kids
To do in order to recover from such an ordeal”

“I haven’t even given into that
Deep, gut wrenching temptation
To do something terribly
Terribly destructive”

I state this in a mockingly proud way
Before pinching my chapped lip between my teeth
And gnawing on it until a swell of blood
Dripped into my seasonally appropriate beverage

“But what I have found”
I say, slowly, licking my coppery lips
“Is that despite all these
‘Coping Mechanisms’”

Your expression is inquisitive
Brow raised, eyes lit up
Like storm clouds with lightning
Stirring somewhere behind them

“I suppose you’re wondering why…”
I state slowly, before sighing an a
Somewhat irritated manner
"I’ve thought this thought too many times before..."

“Because no matter what
My mind refuses to even ponder
The thought that I am meant
For anyone but her”

''I'm not convinced that I am doing it right." the little girl said,
And she tilted the glass so the insides slipped out.
The moon gazed down and shook his head,
"No, no, not at all, my dear, my sweet."
She hung her arms low, so her fingers grazed the soil.
"I'm trying, I'm trying!" the little girl moaned.
And from the dirt appeared a worm,
"Not enough, not enough." was all that she heard.

And down she fell to the ground in a heap.

I am suffocated by your love
Arms now constrict rather than protect
All you want is to be my everything
But I have more to live for than you
I am reminded every moment of your presence
even when you are not there
Eyeing watchfully over my shoulder
I wish I could tell you you love me as much as I
But in respect, I cannot lie
You are not a bad person, but a bad person for me
Ready to nestle down in to love
satisfied with what this is imminent to be
I'm not ready to be loved as much as you love me