i've never been anyone's
first anything

they've kissed before
touched before
loved before
hurt before

they live in before while i live in the now
i'm new to everything
i'm this lump of clay always forming while they're
their own statues

i'm drying out from all these tears
cracks are forming but not into beautiful shapes or patterns
just into memories and awful experiences,
self-doubt and loneliness

i am a lump of clay with no form just
sitting here waiting to be
touched by someone who's
never touched before

now wouldn't that be lovely