Amorous gaze still not returned
Still hoping just
Undecided
You'll just  serve as the muse for a poem you'll never hear recited
Do I get entangled in the infatuation
The unrequited love, the obsession
Let his rejection send me spiraling into self doubt and depression?
Oh not I
Yes I will cry I will feel and I will write
Ill stare at the bruises on my inner thigh left from his bite
Ravenous
Raiding my temple
And me
Loving
Every second of it
Every angle,
Everything it meant and yes even everything that meant nothing
everything that meant nothing beyond that moment,
the hungry,
delightful,
destructive and wonderful moment.
collection of moments.
No, I've never been great at collecting.

Sometimes, I wish it were boy.
   A boy who kissed me for the first time.
   A boy who saw me naked for the first time.
   A boy who touched my body for the first time.

Instead, it was a girl.
   She would make me take my night gown off when we would sleep in the same bed.
    She would kiss me and touch me when I had no way of understanding what it meant or why it was happening.

But I let her.
  
See, in my mind, I was finally getting the attention I was lacking from everyone else.
I  finally felt loved.
But she manipulated my innocence by making me think this was all normal.

When it wasn't.

I didn't realize this for 3 years.
3 years of confusion.
3 years of shame.
3 years of abuse.
At least it stopped.

It took another 8 years for me to actually tell someone.
I remember there were very few words exchanged.
No tears.
No hugs.
Unbearable silence.

I remember spending that night crying into my pillow
wondering why nobody cared.
Would they have reacted differently
if it were a boy who had done this to me?

A boy who stole my ability to trust anyone.
A boy who made me afraid to sleep in my own bed.
A boy who stole my ability to think of my own body as a temple.
A boy who took advantage of my desire to be loved
   and then made me feel unlovable.

But it wasn't a boy.
                 **It was a girl.

When you feel your throat start to burn
     with something you want to say
Coat those words with gasoline
    and start a fire

Don't let them turn into ashes.

I feel like I'm boring you with my stories.
I feel like I'm boring you with my attempts at making you laugh.
I feel like I'm boring you with what's going on inside my mind.
Instead...
You want to know my bra size.
You want to know my favorite ****** position.
You want to know how far I'd let you go.

And I tell you. I tell you everything.

It's funny how obvious your intentions are, yet, I still have this slither of hope that you will realize my brain is more interesting than my ******.

But, until then, the color of my underwear is black with polka dots.
What about yours?