In the middle of the night
when your nostalgia poisons your thoughts.
Everything comes into mind.
My promiscuity. If you'd even call it that.
The first guy. I was in love. I was also 15 and stupid. He had issues.
The third guy. I loved him too. He ******* me up. In every way you could ever think of.
Then I was the one with issues.
The second guy. We dated after the first guy. It wasn't passionate, nor memorable. No *** or touching.
It was, Just. Nice. He held me by my waist rather than my hips or ***
We got back together after the fourth guy. We just weren't the same. And the sweet, nice, innocent smell of monthaversary flowers was replaced with ****
The fourth guy. I won't remember him. I was just bored.
I cheated on the second one with the fifth. I didn't give a **** about the present. I wasn't happy. So I got high and ****** the first guy I found.
The guilt was unbearable. I gave in and broke it off with the second guy.
I kept ******* the fifth one.
Number five wouldn't satisfy my needs.
I met number six. He was all right. Introduced me to shrooms and Hash.
Tall. Vegan.
I'm short and I love meat. Wasn't gonna happen.
Next.
Seven. Hot. My type. Sweet. He was everything I ever wanted and more.
He ****** me. And left. Hit it and quit it, I guess. And I smoked that mother ****** out too.
Ocho. My lips are still bruised from last night.
We made out at the bus stop and his **** was hard.
Not at all my type. Not to brag, but I like to think I'm high class.
Last night, he confirmed that he just wants to ****
It's cool. I appreciate that. I did too at first.
But when a guy touches, and grabs, and kisses, and *****
I'm a toy.
I'm a piece of meat. I'm just a girl-If I'm still considered that.
Because those who couldn't understand.
Or couldn't fit in my shoes, I'm *****
A *** A ****
I'm no longer smart.
No longer valuable. I'm just easy. I'm ******
But when a guy- a guy I like,
when he touches me,
I confuse his ******** with affection. And I fall in love.
But I'm only seventeen and I don't know what love is.
I don't know what real kisses taste like.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:16 AM UTC
In the middle of the night
when your nostalgia poisons your thoughts.
Everything comes into mind.
My promiscuity. If you'd even call it that.
The first guy. I was in love. I was also 15 and stupid. He had issues.
The third guy. I loved him too. He ******* me up. In every way you could ever think of.
Then I was the one with issues.
The second guy. We dated after the first guy. It wasn't passionate, nor memorable. No *** or touching.
It was, Just. Nice. He held me by my waist rather than my hips or ***
We got back together after the fourth guy. We just weren't the same. And the sweet, nice, innocent smell of monthaversary flowers was replaced with ****
The fourth guy. I won't remember him. I was just bored.
I cheated on the second one with the fifth. I didn't give a **** about the present. I wasn't happy. So I got high and ****** the first guy I found.
The guilt was unbearable. I gave in and broke it off with the second guy.
I kept ******* the fifth one.
Number five wouldn't satisfy my needs.
I met number six. He was all right. Introduced me to shrooms and Hash.
Tall. Vegan.
I'm short and I love meat. Wasn't gonna happen.
Next.
Seven. Hot. My type. Sweet. He was everything I ever wanted and more.
He ****** me. And left. Hit it and quit it, I guess. And I smoked that mother ****** out too.
Ocho. My lips are still bruised from last night.
We made out at the bus stop and his **** was hard.
Not at all my type. Not to brag, but I like to think I'm high class.
Last night, he confirmed that he just wants to ****
It's cool. I appreciate that. I did too at first.
But when a guy touches, and grabs, and kisses, and *****
I'm a toy.
I'm a piece of meat. I'm just a girl-If I'm still considered that.
Because those who couldn't understand.
Or couldn't fit in my shoes, I'm *****
A *** A ****
I'm no longer smart.
No longer valuable. I'm just easy. I'm ******
But when a guy- a guy I like,
when he touches me,
I confuse his ******** with affection. And I fall in love.
But I'm only seventeen and I don't know what love is.
I don't know what real kisses taste like.
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