• joycegarcia 11w

    A Note To My Lover


    I get nervous when pretty girls pass me by –
    hair frosted tips flowing with every sway of their slender arms;
    dainty hands I could hold, if only.
    They laugh as they stride, mouths almost painted close to infinity
    when they speak. And the words flow, freeverse and sweet, I could almost cry.
    Pink, luscious soles bathed in lavender mint
    every foot forward is holy and glorified. Every tongue catching summer dew is quaint and succulent, perfect.
    I steady myself and then lose it all; I lose myself in their softness.


    I turn around when gorgeous boys come my way.
    I bow my head and break into a run towards the nearest edifice to hide.
    Those boys with their impenetrable psyche, confident with every step
    and flick of their cigarette, they walk up and say hi and ask for the time.
    I have too many
    yet I don’t have a lot.
    I grow thorns in the night at the mere scent of their necks where I burrow.
    I sink in their embrace.
    Clapped eyelids need not smoothen traitor lines across their foreheads. That musk need not speak for every vein overworked. Your mouth need not curse.


    Trouble and headaches follow a pretty boy, I’ve learned;
    A pretty girl, even worse.
    The boys I have met and hated thereafter all wanted to tame me. The girls who followed envied my freedom.
    The boys could not accept that I had to grow a pair.
    The girls wanted lessons and a proper demo – do I guide them?
    The boys sang, come let me love you, offered their hands for me to hold - walked away when I refused.
    The girls huffed, dug their nails and whined.
    The girls, the girls – they scarred me for life.


    Kiss me.
    Kiss me at the airport, before you board your plane twenty-six months in between.
    Pull me closer and memorize every look I give you. Steady my cheeks as you do my heart, as you do my hands, as you do my breath.
    I am scared of the lonely arms.
    Kiss me hard, bite my lip, squeeze my hands as I listen to your heart
    Scream out of your chest.
    You burden me with the now, ever present and spinning while I jump to the tracks. Watch me crash this car.
    Watch me board this train.
    See how I plant myself to stay on one corner.
    Watch me say grace, plead for mercy – watch me cross the street
    With every pretty girl who says hello, hand in hand, mouth-like secret behind the ear;
    or with every gorgeous boy who smiles my way and asks for the time
    when I have plenty
    and we have none.