Aug 2017
Fifth grade:
Today the boys and girls were separated so they could learn about their body parts. You weren't sure you understood, but the teacher said you didn't have to be afraid of change.
Seventh grade:
Today the class started to learn about ***, but all you did was look at diagrams. Your teacher told you it was alright to giggle.
Eighth grade:
You've decided you'll wait until marriage, because your teacher told you that was the right thing to do. You can't wait to have a family.
Freshman year:
Your health teacher tells you that 50% of people will catch an STD, and he shows you pictures to make sure you don't become one of the statistics. He reminds you that it's immature to giggle.
Sophomore year:
You fell in love last year, and he thinks it's hot that you're still a ******. You tell him that you want him to be your first. He wants to sleep with your best friend instead.
Junior year:
That boy won't love you back, no matter how hard you try. He wants your body on his, and that's about it
But you want him
Maybe you even need him
And you know that *** is supposedly about love, so if you love him then that's enough,
right?
But while you laid there and cried, he wouldn't even look you in the eyes.
Senior year:
You can't explain why things are red and itchy and you're missing so much school. But finally the doctor called on a Tuesday, and you have to tell your mother what's wrong with you.
You can't stand the way the pharmacist looks at you when you pick up your prescription
You know your new lover deserves more than this
And so do you
Because your fifth grade teacher never could have warned you about these sorts of changes
And you really did want to wait until marriage
But freshman health didn't warn you about someone who would lie to you, someone who would kiss you while he kills you
And the statistics couldn't prepare you for the names you would be called
The sleep you would lose
It's funny how my fingers shake, how they spill their suffering onto a page
I've written this poem a million times, but somehow the only thing that ever surfaces is shame
Because I can't forget that my silk underwear broadcast a warning sign
And now my life will never be the same
This poem is dedicated to all my regrets
It's dedicated to loving you, to hating me, and everything in-between
To reminding myself that my mother was wrong when she said no one else will ever love me, because I know that I am worth loving
I dedicate it to the burning and itching feeling of missing you, because sometimes I still do
This poem can be about the way i shake when I think about ever seeing you again
Or it could even be about the way my lover has to hold me while i try and breathe
You have left your mark on me and it has grown into blisters
And while I am teaching myself to hate you, I hope you think of me each morning.
Today the boys and girls were separated so they could learn about their body parts. You weren't sure you understood, but the teacher said you didn't have to be afraid of change.
Seventh grade:
Today the class started to learn about ***, but all you did was look at diagrams. Your teacher told you it was alright to giggle.
Eighth grade:
You've decided you'll wait until marriage, because your teacher told you that was the right thing to do. You can't wait to have a family.
Freshman year:
Your health teacher tells you that 50% of people will catch an STD, and he shows you pictures to make sure you don't become one of the statistics. He reminds you that it's immature to giggle.
Sophomore year:
You fell in love last year, and he thinks it's hot that you're still a ******. You tell him that you want him to be your first. He wants to sleep with your best friend instead.
Junior year:
That boy won't love you back, no matter how hard you try. He wants your body on his, and that's about it
But you want him
Maybe you even need him
And you know that *** is supposedly about love, so if you love him then that's enough,
right?
But while you laid there and cried, he wouldn't even look you in the eyes.
Senior year:
You can't explain why things are red and itchy and you're missing so much school. But finally the doctor called on a Tuesday, and you have to tell your mother what's wrong with you.
You can't stand the way the pharmacist looks at you when you pick up your prescription
You know your new lover deserves more than this
And so do you
Because your fifth grade teacher never could have warned you about these sorts of changes
And you really did want to wait until marriage
But freshman health didn't warn you about someone who would lie to you, someone who would kiss you while he kills you
And the statistics couldn't prepare you for the names you would be called
The sleep you would lose
It's funny how my fingers shake, how they spill their suffering onto a page
I've written this poem a million times, but somehow the only thing that ever surfaces is shame
Because I can't forget that my silk underwear broadcast a warning sign
And now my life will never be the same
This poem is dedicated to all my regrets
It's dedicated to loving you, to hating me, and everything in-between
To reminding myself that my mother was wrong when she said no one else will ever love me, because I know that I am worth loving
I dedicate it to the burning and itching feeling of missing you, because sometimes I still do
This poem can be about the way i shake when I think about ever seeing you again
Or it could even be about the way my lover has to hold me while i try and breathe
You have left your mark on me and it has grown into blisters
And while I am teaching myself to hate you, I hope you think of me each morning.
