I have tasted many cigarettes on these lips
that no longer feel like my own.
Strangers have come and kissed them,
leaving only ash trails.
It's not every weekend you find me
at the softest sofa in the living room,
downing gin, ice and juice
with newfound friends and old classmates
I'm usually on smooth sheets and
surrounded by silence
with only Netflix to keep me company.
I think of past lovers often and
with every stick that has passed my lips,
I wonder how would it all have turned out
if we didn't end or if it ended differently.
I want to love again, I really do.
What girl would not love to be called baby
or honey, or love?
What girl would not love to be given homemade meals
in a glass lunch box or tulips and violets just because?
What girl would not love talking
about the existence of other worlds, mythological creatures?
The planets and the stars? The afterlife
Her favorite books, her favorite tea and
the things she does when she tries to calm her anxiety.
I was asked if I would
let my hair grow back again because
I looked like a boy from the back.
Deceiving people is funny in this superficial way but
I would not let strangers touch my hair.
If he comes by, this anyone whom I will
start to feel my heart flutter for and
my eyes dilate in stars
then he can twirl his strong fingers through the silky strands.
I was asked if
Men were pursuing me.
I had no clue, I did not want to know
if there were men who actually liked me
and not the bubbly side that
everyone was accustomed to, after my past lover left.
I was never shockingly beautiful, nor effortlessly charming
Not athletic skinny or even dazzlingly voluptuous,
Always never an option, just a passing stranger
Everyone falls in love with my pretty friends
Also, they say I'm too
rough around the edges,
soft but full of fire,
grounded but lost in the clouds.
So I didn't want to know.
I can't breathe sometimes.
I'll quit the weekend cigarette boxes and maybe
disappear for a while.
Because I missed the sun and
It'll get better
I know it will.