You wormed your way into my room through tendrils Of smoke curling through my hair You sat on my bed as if you belonged there, and Who was I to tell you any different? This is not a hate poem; this is a coming-to-terms with my own emotions. We kept the lights off, a deliberate foreshadowing. I could feel you sinking lower into my sheets, The conversation didn’t bother itself to become memorable. You said you were six feet tall, I’m still not sure if that’s true. I made you stand up to compare, but didn’t garner much, Other than what it feels like to have your breath gently flow towards My perked face, to have your hands withering at your sides before Stretching out, over my torso. We sat back down. Conversational squares Emerged. You kissed me, like I knew you would, without hesitancy or Any questions at all. I had a few, but your lips stemmed them, and I figured Your body was answer enough. It was. At least the first time. It felt good. You were good. Especially to me. You wound your way throughout my body and stroked my worries Into oblivion. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted it. We both did. But looking back, I wish there had been questions. I wish you hadn’t known that I would give myself to you. Just like all the other girls before, just like all the ones after and during. Nothing that happened was wrong. I came away from the night with A new sort of tingling and a spreading smile and endorphins that Seemed to bounce from side to side within me. But I still wish I had been special. – Not what happened, but me. This is my greatest downfall.