Your tender words caress my face and seep into my skin. Soft soliloquies, quiet rhymes, rhythmic patterns, they swirl in my mind and are painted behind my eyelids while I sleep or as I think of you and smile. The whisper of your fingertips reminds me of the brush of your pen and the tumultuous emotion from each word brought forth from your mind. Your poems of love impart a sweet nostalgic ache for the passion I'd never felt until your words flooded my thoughts and allowed deeply seeded flowers to grow into a full bloom.
And I think maybe it is not you I fell for, but the sweet, sweet, song you sing.
Started 2/26/2021, finished 4/1/2021 I like the last verse but I don't know how I feel about the rest.
We've all imagined Wedding dresses and vails growing up losing our pig-tails and overalls trading them in for beach waves and crop tops only for the person in our Reflection to turn into a complete s t r a n g e r
staring blank faced at a girl you can't recognize anymore drawing imaginary lines on our bodies with our eyes cutting away the imperfections with our hands shaped as scissors,
wishing we could look like the models in the magazines or the actresses on the tv screens But, society tells us we can Never be Skinny enough Never be Pretty enough That our features will NEVER be Good e n o u g h
Because the girl in the mirror who has lost all hope can Never amount to what we have been taught from the time we could walk and talk what beautiful is;
We went from carefree children to teens who are depressed and anxious all the time most of us addicted to Nicotine and Alcohol our parents tell us to smile and quit with the attitudes but behind closed doors we criticize ourselves enough
The little girl in her pigtails playing with everyone on the playground so innocent so pure get labeled as a racist in the 6th grade because her skin is white
By the time she enters high school she knows better than to state an opinion, the teachers know Best, never stand up to a man, he's superior to you, even when behind the closed doors he touches you when you say STOP but you know better than to say something cause you had to have wanted it, take it as a compliment, it just means you're pretty
if you say anything you'll be labeled as a W h o r e if you keep quiet it's an invitation for M o r e
people asking "why do you flinch at a simple touch?" how do you explain years of torment to a complete s t r a n g e r, you don't, you smile and act dumb
pretty is a vocabulary word to describe anyone but the girl that is seen in the mirror because she is Not Good e n o u g h and she knows that
she has lost friends cause she can't trust them
she changes her style monthly
trying sooo hard just to be accepted she doesn't remember the little girl in pigtails, she doesn't remember what a real smile looks like, the pain behind her eyes c l o u d s her reality the voice in her head telling her "you're eating too much" "you're an idiot" "you'll never amount to anything" and she s l o w l y fades away til there is nothing left to put back together cause her mind and heart are s c a t t e r e d aimlessly shes numb and she thinks, this is what happiness feels like no more pain no more criticizing No, more pretending to be okay
If you see this note I want you to know It's not my fault If love is starting to show. So when I flinch at your touch It isn't because of a crush You just...made me jump. When my cheeks go red After you touch my leg I'm not flustered, but...just something else instead! It's just sugar and veins that make me feel like I'm fizzing And it's just habit To hold your hand when I see you ... Maybe I'm wrong and I do love you Is that what I'm supposed to say? Would that take these thoughts away? But it's not like there's anything I could do It's not like just this note would get all my thoughts through.
I've had ****. Not *** Not love-making Not consensually. I've been ******. *****. abused. taken advantage of. whatever it is you want to call it I've had it done. I've been kissed Fingered choked hit spit on spit in I've been held, hostage with knives against my throat guns to my head, in my mouth drugs down my throat barely conscious I've been ******. I've been in love I've been heartbroken I've been touched consensually, let me tell you about the consensually. I've been kissed in the bathroom, lifting her up against the wall laughing when our teeth brushed against one another's hands fumbling up a skirt around a throat fingers tangled in wavy hair. I've been touched sitting in her lap outside on a hot day wearing her hoodie around children freshmen year. I've been touched multiple times by him in band rooms, away from prying eyes secrets to be kept and wooed over laying in a dress during a concert event head in the lap of my best friend underwear brushed to the side fingers thrusting in and yes, this was consentually. I've been touched in the school hallways every day after school or in between classes tasted and tasted he tasted me I tasted myself. And in the living room of our best friend's house even though I told him no I told him the safe word he continued. I say it was consensual because in the end, I said I loved it. Don't argue about it. I wanted it. and I've been touched in her pool heated ever so lovingly LED lights danced us into the temptation as did the alcohol on my part with her lips against my chest desperate to mark, yet not to show i mean, hey, my step-dad's homophobic though I'd love nothing more than to show who I belong to. We switched a lot, but ultimately I landed in her lap water licking up my sides, sending chills to ******* goosebumps and her fingers hesitating not daring to touch. "i'm going to need a yes." finally. Finally asked. I nodded eagerly and she treated me like a piano perfect notes though brief I know that I was drenched in all ways the chlorine water yes and of course the obvious. you see, we were going to do something that night we had the chance to I wanted to she wanted to In the end, she took something for her headache though it was a sort of similar thing to Nyquil We were going to. But we laid in bed and we molded against each other and sailed asleep. I've slept with one person. Her Sydney My Muse. But Still, A ****** am I
do fires kiss my skin's senses not when I should be kept back at a spines distance not when I solicit crimson splashes from transients that gaze longingly from a screens distance but for the aftertaste of tenderness I often wonder if the inferno that burns in a particular shade of loneliness could be extinguished with nothing more than what you call a "hug"