i wish i could have that sweet 16 kind of romance.
kisses that are ardent and chaste
not forced, feeling like a mouthful of nails
hugs that are comforting and soft
instead of repulsive, a cage i violently try to break free of
hands that are holding mine, a loving reminder and consistent warmth
not calloused extremities stealing me by the wrist towards my demise
words that are gentle and sincere (beautiful, talented, queen),
instead of ones described only as ***** (***-****, *****, *****)
intimacy that arrives only if and when i'm ready, youthful and gentle
not ****** onto me years before sweet 16, hardly intimate but instead bluntly illicit
bodies (especially mine) that are unscarred, untainted, unused
not the opposite, crusted in an inscrutable filth impossible to remove
love that is fun and bright, something I can boast to all my friends
not a sickening attraction shrouded in the depths of my mind, only to see the light through poetry written in the early hours...
i wish, i wish, i wish.
i wish i could have that sweet 16 kind of romance!
but i don't.
wishes are just flimsy desires; a tear-soaked plead to the void of night, words on a poem no one may care to read, something i say as i blow out the candles. hopeful and yet, hopeless.
so, i'm still 16. and at least my favorite dessert is sweet. but the romance? ha! my romance is dead; burnt to ashes, like a delicate rose bathed in kerosene and set alight by the burning match of a devil's lust.