When it happens his mouth is nothing like they’ve taught you to expect. Just more flesh slipping and sliding against yours. He grabs you as though all you are is just another thing he wants to conquer, he wants to take control of, and then he wants to forget. He grabs your ******* pretending it was a mistake but doesn’t let go. And before you’ve realised it happened, it’s over.

He leaves you to get dressed alone.

He drives you home and you press your body against the car door, never looking at him because you’re too ashamed. When you arrive outside your house and he leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes and try remember your grandmothers cooking or the smell of the spray your overbearing mother uses to clean the house - anything that doesn’t make you want to throw up.

You walk into your room and the mirror with butterflies and fairies on the frame mock you because you can’t even look at your own reflection.

You hold hands, pretend to watch a movie, fake a laugh at all the appropriate moments. He kisses you again, following some internal rhythm that you are uncomfortable dancing to. It feels as though you are a character in a play, every action you repeat has been rehearsed over and over again. This is nothing like they have taught you to expect. You were told that love was supposed to be easy. Pretending has become second nature to you. Your stomach turns uncontrollably as you lean your head on his cold shoulder, the day is nearly over.

In the car he drives passed the park because it’s the fastest way to your house, even though you tell him every drive that you want to go passed the lake so you can look at the ducks you used to feed when you were little. Today you do not mind that he is taking you the faster way because you don’t know how much longer you can hold your breath for before you pass out. You watch the children screaming, and how you wish you could scream. Still not looking him in the eyes you kiss him goodbye, you can feel acid in the back of your throat.

At home you wonder if you can wash the memory of him away, because toothpaste only replaced the taste of him from your bleeding mouth.

This is nothing like they’ve taught you to expect. It takes you four more boys until you get it right. Until you meet the one that doesn’t look at you like you are something to eat. He presses his hand onto the small of your back and kisses your tears. He feels like petals, like those hazy summer days when the sun is as hot as the desert sky.

I try and try to write about
The love that keeps my heart beating
And the love that tears it apart.

I cry and cry every night about
The hole in my chest that once was you
And the hole in my chest that will continue.

I pry and pry your mind
To see why I am not enough
And to see why and how our love went awry.

I die and die every time
I see pictures of her with you
And I see pictures of when it was just
Me and you.

He told me that in order to stop hurting him I would have to stop breathing.
Little did he know I had stopped. A long time ago.
And kissing him was like kissing the sun.
His mouth was the only ash I would let enter my lungs.
I hate the fact that I am drowning on land.

This is for the people who are alone in a room full of people. For the misfits and socially awkward chipmunks. For the ones who feel empty. This is for you because it gets better. One day you will find your people. Chin up little flower.

2. This is for the girls with curly hair. This is for those of you who are too tiny to reach the top shelf or are too tall to blend in. For the gangly arms, the bruised knees. For freckled faces and crooked teeth. For the girls who hate their body. For the girls who love their body. This is for those of you who society states are not beautiful because you are not the norm. This is for the wallflowers.            

3. This is for the 3 AM romantics. For the alcoholics and the poets. For the ones who cry alone. For the people who have passion burning their soul but were not born with the ability to express it.  This is for the actors and   dancers. For the people who have music between their rib cage.          
  
4. This is for those of you who drink black coffee even though you don't like the taste. This is for red lipstick. This is for your out dated cell phone, and your NASA computer. This is for your crocs. This is for the mimers, the clowns, the people who are too scared to love themselves. Your chameleon soul is inspiring.            

5. This is for you, the reader. This is to tell you that you are not alone.

you are now in one half
of the world floating about;
the other half of the apple asunder
is where I am

just the other day
N Korea blew their arsenal
and America on the other side said:
Anything you can do, I can do better
and they all regaled us all with fireworks

And Russia said: Don't mess with me
I got arsenals and patriotism
and it's not Afghan tribes we're fighting this time

and then the terrorist nations said:
Have we got a surprise for you -
we're nuclear family too
and so humanity was treated
to New Year's celebrations out of season
and earth broke in two

(and God said:
Thank you for the Holy Wars,
and all in my name too;
nothing's gone in vain -
I'll see you in Heaven
with fair maidens
and virgins for you to *****)

and so it is we are floating in two halves
and sometimes,  just sometimes
our two earths will glide past each other
and we might see each other -
and we could, if you are so disposed,
wave at each other (with missiles in hand)