melancholy

A Thank You Poem To All The Boys That Kissed Me

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I was five when I was not looking,

but I secretly wanted him to do it

because I said

prove to me you love me

because he told me he did all of the time

and I knew he wanted to kiss me

so at five

I did not grasp a concept that loving is something we should save

until later

like we are flower buds covered by snow fall

waiting for one someone to warm us to life,

to become whole

like love

isn’t the thread that sews the cosmos together,

composing the fabric or our souls

and our parents told us

we weren’t allowed to do those things or say those things

until we were old,

but I am here to tell you

please don’t think so hard about love

because it springs like wild flowers in the spring sun.

My next kiss was at seventeen

in the back of a car and it was messy

but no one really talks about kissing being something needing practicing

and feeling like you are counting the times you are breathing

praying you are good

and I kissed that boy for the next 3 years

and he melted me and felt mostly like daisies and a lot like the dirt

they grow from but

young is always a good age to fall

in love,

but I still remember the time when

we were on my parent’s couch and

eighteen felt a lot like free falling and not caring where I landed

and I remember thinking that he was deserving

of my body and

him pushing boundaries with fingers and things

even when I said

“not ready”

when in reality my walls were crumbling with each prodding

thinking maybe

I should just be ready

and my “friend”

told me

what’s the big deal,

touch it

already

and things were messy

and I remember the time I really felt like my body

was just a means to his end

when my face was being forced against him

and I hope he tasted the fear and anger on my tongue

and I remember apologizing to him

for getting so mad about

“nothing.”

It’s nothing

people say,

what’s the big deal

about sex and bodies consuming each other,

exploring each other

like we are not the most beautiful, poetic of worlds

as if we can fill emptiness

with more emptiness.

I remember when the I think about the boy who kissed me when

I was five when I was not looking,

but I secretly wanted him to do it

because I said

prove you love me because he told me all the time

and at five

I did not grasp a concept that loving is something we should save

until later

like we are flower buds covered by snow fall

waiting for someone to warm us to life,

to become whole

like love

isn’t the thread that sews the cosmos together,

composing the fabric or our souls

and our parents told us

we weren’t allowed to do those things or say those things

until we were old,

but I am here to tell you

please don’t think so hard about love

because it springs like wild flowers in the spring sun.

My next kiss was at seventeen

in the back of a car and it was messy

but no one really talks about kissing being something needing practicing

and feeling like you are counting the times you are breathing

praying you are good

and I kissed that boy for the next 3 years

and he melted me and felt mostly like daisies and a lot like the dirt

they grow from but

young is always a good age to fall

in love,

but I still remember the time when

we were on my parent’s couch and

eighteen felt a lot like free falling and not caring where I landed

and I remember thinking that he was deserving

of my body and

him pushing boundaries with fingers and things

even when I said

“not ready”

when in reality my walls were crumbling with each prodding

thinking maybe

I should just be ready

and my “friend”

told me

what’s the big deal,

touch it

already

and things were messy

and I remember the time I really felt like my body

was just a means to his end

when my face was being forced against him

and I hope he tasted the fear and anger on my tongue

and I remember apologizing to him

for getting so mad about

“nothing.”

It’s nothing

people say,

what’s the big deal

about sex and bodies consuming each other,

exploring each other

like we are not the most beautiful, poetic of worlds

as if we can fill emptiness

with more emptiness.

I remember when the daisies died

and then I ended up dating this guy for a couple of times

and I told him over again,

kiss me but don’t touch my thighs

and the same day he swore,

“I didn’t know what I was touching”

and I ended up apologizing

for having to move his hand away,

but at twenty-one I am not sorry

for refusing to reduce others’ to solely skin

and for the times guys have said

you just turn me on

too much

and they just can’t help themselves,

my body is not your burden

and I am not made to relieve you from this/

And for all of the guys who understand the idea of consent

and it being active,

thank you

And for all of the women who understand the idea of consent

and it being active,

thank you,

please for the love of god, continue.

And then the day an almost stranger asked

in the pouring rain

if he could kiss me

I said yes

because I wanted to

and there it was

so simply.

Submitted to ArtParasites by Abbie Young