melancholy
A Thank You Poem To All The Boys That Kissed Me
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.
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