(I mean it Ma,
Click back now
I’d rather not scar you
Or cost us even more money
On therapy)
The first time I had ***
I felt horribly guilty afterwards
I can only guess as to why
Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
The one thrusting and holding her up
The one that didn’t get to ***
The first go around
The one to wash their fingers clean in the aftermath
While the ‘girl’ wiped up her nether regions
Put her pants back on
And remained in an ‘aftersex’ glow
Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
That I was the one that ‘took’ something
But whatever the reason
Is irrelevant because within days
This guilt faded
As did any taste of regret
Vaguely reminiscent of the
Taste of her ***
And replacing said guilt
Was love; strong and (now) poignant
Beyond my years
And she is gone; literally so,
Thus replacing said love
Was pain; strong and poignant
Beyond my years
Replacing said pain
Was another type
Quite common of my age
A madly bruised hand
To be exact;
Courtesy of my teenage idiocy
Replacing my physical pain and idiocy
Was another girl
One that could never be ‘her’
I cannot kiss this girl
It’s all so different
All so ******* wrong
I can’t stand her braces
And the taste of sour milk
That is always marinating in her mouth
I can’t stand this girl
But it is not her fault
It’s, to mimic a cliché,
It’s me, not her
And I am, genuinely,
Sorry for her
But I am so, extremely, pathetically
More sorry
For myself
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
(I mean it Ma,
Click back now
I’d rather not scar you
Or cost us even more money
On therapy)
The first time I had ***
I felt horribly guilty afterwards
I can only guess as to why
Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
The one thrusting and holding her up
The one that didn’t get to ***
The first go around
The one to wash their fingers clean in the aftermath
While the ‘girl’ wiped up her nether regions
Put her pants back on
And remained in an ‘aftersex’ glow
Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
That I was the one that ‘took’ something
But whatever the reason
Is irrelevant because within days
This guilt faded
As did any taste of regret
Vaguely reminiscent of the
Taste of her ***
And replacing said guilt
Was love; strong and (now) poignant
Beyond my years
And she is gone; literally so,
Thus replacing said love
Was pain; strong and poignant
Beyond my years
Replacing said pain
Was another type
Quite common of my age
A madly bruised hand
To be exact;
Courtesy of my teenage idiocy
Replacing my physical pain and idiocy
Was another girl
One that could never be ‘her’
I cannot kiss this girl
It’s all so different
All so ******* wrong
I can’t stand her braces
And the taste of sour milk
That is always marinating in her mouth
I can’t stand this girl
But it is not her fault
It’s, to mimic a cliché,
It’s me, not her
And I am, genuinely,
Sorry for her
But I am so, extremely, pathetically
More sorry
For myself
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