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we had a risky kind of love

a young kind of love

a reckless kind of love

a “we don’t know where we’re going
but get in my passenger seat
and we’ll know when we get there”
kind of love

a skinny dipping

crazy adventures

endless road trips
kind of love

a “there’s so much to do.
but touch me and just for tonight,
let’s forget about everything else”
kind of love

a smoke clouds

red eyes

breathe me in
and hold me there
kind of love

a “the world is scary
but hold onto my hand
and you’ll be fine”
kind of love

a late night drives

flushed cheeks

“shut up and kiss me”
kind of love

we had a risky kind of love
but *******
it was so worth the risk
good girls
are not supposed to
get angry
or raise their voices
when they argue
or argue at all
in the first place.

good girls
are not supposed to
wear ripped jeans
or tight shirts
or say the word “****.”
good girls
are not supposed to
even think about *******.

and here I am,
having already used
the word “****”
three times in this poem.

good girls
are not supposed to
get plastered
on school nights
or tipsy before classes
or listen to music
with the volume
cranked all the way up.

good girls
are not supposed to
know which windows
make the least noise
when they’re sneaking out
or know where they can
buy cheap alcohol underage
or know who they can kiss
and where to kiss them
to get what they want.

good girls
are supposed to
smile silently and be pure
and go to church
or wherever they pray
to cleanse their filthy souls.

good girls
are supposed
to believe in
and put their trust in
and have faith in a god.

good girls
are supposed to
expect this god to
keep them away from harm,
and to never learn how to
keep themselves safe
if this god fails to.

good girls
are not supposed to
act anything like me.

the only thing
I have ever truly
believed in is poetry.

I outgrew religion by
the time I turned seventeen,
long before then
if I’m being honest.

I never turned to prayer for
advice on how to live my life.

I never turned to anyone
but myself.

I only consulted the bible
when I needed inspiration
for some tragic poem.

good girls
are not supposed to
write poetry
the way that I
write poetry.

good girls
never speak of or write about
*** and drugs and violent minds
and suicide and more ***
and broken hearts.

good girls
don’t sing along to
the lyrics of sad songs
in front of open windows
just for the ******* sake of it.

but good girls
don’t realize that life is short
until it’s too late.

good girls don’t ever
get to feel alive.

a girl like me
who gets into trouble
and refuses to stay quiet
and causes a scene
everywhere she goes
is not a good girl.

a girl like me
might be too reckless
and die too young.

but a girl like me
will die with no regrets
and plenty of memories
and so many *******
stories to tell.

a girl like me
will live the life that
good girls dream of,
but never get to talk about.
CAL 7d
the only high that i need
is lips on mine
and feeling terrible
messing around
feeling my (real) feelings leave
while smoke and caffeine put my mind in a bubble
i was sober.
Ila 7d
You think that you fall in love with your highschool sweetheart. I think you're wrong. I do not think that is love. Maybe you like them oh so very much, but it is not love.

Love is giving yourself to another person and being vulnerable. Vulnerable enough that you're giving your heart to them. Some adults cannot even do this, let alone a teenager.

You don’t even know yourself at this age, not even at 20, maybe not even until you’re 50, but suddenly you’re deciding you want to marry this person and be with them for life?

Maybe I’m bringing up a controversial topic. Maybe it’s a past experience I refuse to forget. It’s silly how people think those three words can solve any fight. If you really loved me, why are we doing this.

I can’t give you my love, I don’t even actually know what it is. How do I know what I’m feeling is love? “You just know”, I call bs. Tell me how, I want to know. I need to know.
I won’t say I love you for I’m not sure if I really do
saran sidda Sep 5
done mistakes that's irreplaceable
time passes by that know no turns
materialistic world flows with the flow
yet, my emotion's static at first sight
Maruko San Aug 29
Right now I'm in a limbo,
stuck between being a kid and going through adulthood
where i'm always depressed,
where pressure is always pressed,
where my brain is unstable,
and where my emotions are unpredictable
two choices with many outcome
but for now I'll just enjoy this brief misery
of my teenage years.
just watched chemical hearts
and it really inspired me to make this piece
I sat with my grief long enough
To be at peace with her
Asked her how she came to live with me
She replies with a simple answer
I am the product of your lovely heart
The heart that allowed itself to be touched,broken and mended.
I asked if she would leave soon
She replied, so as long as love lies inside,
I will also be.

I sat with my pain , who looked wrung out and bled profusely
I offered a cloth to stop the bleeding
But she refused to take it, said she didn’t want to heal
I then proceeded to ask her why she stayed
She starts to cry aloud and shows me her wounds
When I looked carefully I saw that they were bind with heaps of memories and guilt
I slowly took a deep breath and untangled the rusted chains of guilt one by one
The beads of memories were tightly wrapped between the chains
It took me a thousand tries to untangle the mess
But when I finally did, my pain stopped bleeding . She took a breath of relief and thanked me for it
The next morning she left and replaced herself with wisdom

I also sat with my insecurities
We sipped a cup of warm chamomile
When it was all calm, I began to ask her
How and why she became a part of me
She looked afraid and shaken for a while
Then she whispered and told me
It was because the world had distorted my own perception of myself, that she was born and grew to be a part of me
I did not want to kick her out so harshly, lest she be filled with more fear
So I gave her a pat on the hand and kissed her gently
Told her she need not grow any longer
And asked her to become my best friend
I was no longer ashamed to be with her nor was she with me,
And this is how I found a home inside myself.
Lily Priest Aug 18
The air always smelled like cigarettes
And burnt denim,
Ripped and frayed
sitting on sharp hips
Tipped with attitude.

Our palms, always the color of dirt
Pressed against green glass
As we tipped,
laughed throatily at
The burn in our chests.

Our smiles always shined
Glossed lips turned up
With naive knowing
Sure shoulder shrugs
To hide the blush
Of falling behind.

Our voices were always loud
Looong syllables
Sang with solemn vows
Of seeing all our promises
Through to the end
Never bending
Against the break of the world.

Our sight was always far
Squinting at the sun-soaked unseen
Flicking cigarette butts
With perfect aim,
Watching the red smoulder
Flippant with the thought
That we would be the same,
never going out.
audreyboren Jul 17
it's 3am in the morning,
look at you, you're right by my side
in this unknown place
20 miles from home.

we're alone together at backyard
its 60F outside
it's cold, but you keep me warm
your hug and smile keep me warm

cigarettes in our mouth
smoke in our lungs
laughing with no reasons
you made me feel like i'm the luckiest

sitting on the couch,
with your brother next room
we sing, tell jokes
until our laugh turned into a kiss

we kiss in the cold, slowly
the taste of sweet cigarettes
and our eyes closed
we looked into the mirror,
"we look good together"

until the morning comes,
we looked into each other eyes
i thought i love you,
and you did too.
but were not

we admit we want each other
we want to stay close
but were to afraid to leave or lose each other
after all were just teenagers,
who needs accompany
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