I once met a boy who put his hand on my thigh as he asked for my name. and upon learning it, pressed his lips to mine. naive and foolish, I believed this to be what the people called "love." and I went willingly.

I once met a boy who told me he loved me the day he met me. he swore it was true. realizing that this must be what the people called "love"
I went willingly

I once met a boy who sang songs out of tune and danced with me in the rain. he played music with dandelion fingers. I was awe-struck. disregarding future pain, I closed my eyes and the door.
and I went willingly.

I once met a boy with broken hands who smelled of cigarettes and regret. he plucked his guitar strings and I imagined them to be straps and ties of my clothing. with each note he played, more of my skin touched the cold air. by the end of his song, I'd written this poem.

(e.s.s.)