Young Writers Society

i have loved you ever since
a rainy day in an autumn month
when the leaves shone like king's robes
in the dying light of summer.
you shoved your hands in your pockets
and motioned me to walk with you.

perhaps in darkened rooms
when you held me close to your soft cotton chest
and i pressed my fingertips
on the sore point below your ears
and kissed a path along your secret skin
you were not left with the feeling
that my heart was entirely yours.

but words like love sound so
little-girl-and-barbie-doll when they fall
from my coarse lips.
the word sounds so small to my critical ears
and i try to fill the empty hole
with an amusing comment on your new haircut.

you call it immature and scared.
i call it self-defense.
when people get too near
i like to curl around myself
and shield my precious, well-maintained heart
with my worn and battered knees,
pretending i can't hear them
when they bend to whisper honey in my ear.

now do you understand why
i like to pretend i am too busy staring at
the rainbows that water makes in balmy summer air
to let your eyes align themselves with mine?

are you still wondering how much i love you?
how much i just want you to grab my shoulder
and push me against a skin-biting gritty brick wall
and throw your lips on mine?

think of every time
i have thrown words like daggers at you -
aimed towards the softest part of your heart -
and fill in the blanks.