First Boyfriend

September 5, 2000 11:53am

"If you’re going to cheat on your boyfriend make sure you break up with him first, you ugly bitch!"

As I turned to see my friends walk back to class without a care — I came to realize, as I rubbed the streaks of mascara off my face, that my life would never be the same.

I remember lying under the covers when
our premature, first autumn began to fall; an October
night, pale as my lips were cold — abandoned by

blood's refusal to play warmth into November. This
hand evicted out from your glove; my father’s panic
found reprieve. Those childhood dreams of falling
down had come back; hitting the ground - safety
net occupied.

*
November 11, 2000 9:14pm

“I never meant to hurt you. Kissing him meant nothing. You’re the one I want.”

Your flesh at Seventeen— I wanted to relish every inch.
I remember rainy days where we’d seek refuge under your
umbrella, standing on the senior quad in all its emptiness, our
tongues submissive to lunch hour’s destiny. My skin pervasive
in resting eau de cologne, your neck stained in the hue of
habitual love letters — prime accessories in marking
clothed, sexual territory.

*

November 11, 2001 5:13pm

“This isn’t going anywhere. All we do is fight and plus, you’ve yet to let me fuck you.”

I remember your house. Careful in her home, I gained back
your mother’s trust after breaking your virginal heart. I remember
the night I slept over: running away with lies left on my home’s
answering machine, twirling spaghetti, sipping raspberry wine,
listening to wind chimes in blind rapture with the dry Santa Anas.

You undressed my inexperienced teenage frame.
Fearful as your finger let itself slide, I remembered the stained-glass butterfly missing its wing.

*
July 20, 2003 4:37pm

“I’ll call you back.”
“No you won’t.”
“I can’t take your shit anymore. I can’t talk right now with you harping at me. I’ll call you back.”

I was tested on young love. The welcome to cheat—wrapped in those
muscular arms, long through frayed edges of his cotton t-shirt— consented.
I can say I suffered along with you though you’d swiftly overturn my parole,
calling it a bluff, sentencing my capacity to assault fledgling emotions to further
rehabilitation.

*
October 11, 2011 6:37pm

I have always been worth waiting for.


I’ve been waiting 8 years, 3 months and 21 days as if old
photos and once pleasant Valentine grams are so inclined to ask.
Those childhood dreams of falling down have come back; hitting
forgiving ground – safety net easy, vacant only to be occupied by
last boyfriend’s love.

The phone number you never dialed is no longer in amenable service
to the moments we spent — they were nothing more than fairytales you
told to keep me captive.