Thursday, August 31, 2006

I met a boy

I met a boy who calls me beautiful instead of hot
Who smiles everytime he looks at me
Who holds the door for me to get on the bus

I met a boy who calls me during his lunchbreak just to tell me I’m cute
Who’s seen me at my silliest, my messiest, my bitchiest, and still thinks I’m a queen

I met a boy who remembered our 3 month anniversary
A boy who still writes me love letters
Who makes me forget the way it was and could have been with that other boy

I met a boy who makes me want to let go of the pain
The first boy I’ve ever wanted to hold hands with in public
The only boy I ever told I don’t like my eyebrows

I met a boy
The first boy I ever called back to ask if the phone cut off or if he hung up
The only boy that sways with me in perfect rhythm to the tunes in my head

I met a boy
Four months into it, he still gives me butterflies
He’s my lover and my friend
My fantasy and my reality

I met a boy who doesn’t mind kissing me with early morning breath
A boy with whom pizza tastes like caviar
A boy who lets me fly and is there to catch me if I fall
Someone I don’t have to put on a show for cos he sees me.

I met a boy
Who reads the thoughts I never admit to
With whom everything feels so good it’s almost a sin
There’s a sense of wonder
I’m happy, fulfilled even
I’ve known him but this long and he already knows my heart, fills it, maybe even owns it
I think of all the ways he’s wrong for me and they don’t seem to matter
Cos I look into his eyes and I see his soul

I met a boy I want to explore
But a big part of me wants to hide
Cos I’m still afraid
I like him, want him, trust him
but I break into a cold sweat if he mistakenly rubs against me
I grow still as a heart attack if he touches me in my sleep
My heart skips a beat if he trys to reach out to me at night
I still kick out if he tries creeping up on me

After all these years, I still sleep in the fetal position; I still seek protection from the strangeness of it all.

I’m still afraid, even after I met this boy.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

I hate the night

I hate the night cos its mysterious and filled with gloom
It shrouds beauty and darkens everything
I hate the night cos that’s when he creeps in
I love him during the day and I hate him at night
He slithers in at night, slithers in to try things he can’t do when it’s bright
During the night I cant sleep; I lie awake just thinking of what’s to come
But I don’t want to think cos all I have is memories; images I’d rather bury forever
He cracks the door open a little while we sleep and calls out my name
Instant goosebumps arise on my skin, chills run down my spine.
I freeze inside
A thousand thoughts run through my head
I wish she’d wake up beside me and see what he is trying to do
She’s young, but I’m desperate; I need help; I need an out
I wonder if I should close my eyes and pretend to sleep; maybe then he’d just leave me alone
But then again, what if then he goes further, tries something he couldn’t when I’m looking straight into his eyes
Completely frozen inside, outside I burn… Its soo hot
He keeps tapping me; I want to scream but I smother it inside
Tears stream down my face endlessly
Please he begs, I don’t know why I do this, we’re family but I just can’t help it
At first, I complain, argue, talk to him about it
I try to understand but I just can’t wrap my mind around it
He begs, pleads almost crying
I don’t want a grown man to cry cos of me; I succumb
My heart is cold, so I think of places- sunny, pretty, warm places where 15 year old girls don’t have to go through this
He touches, feels, rubs, but I’m in my cocoon.
When he achieves what he wants, he thanks me.
There is no sex, no rape, so what is this? I feel desecrated
I hate my body for creating desire in him
On my deepest, darkest days, I wish he’d just go the full nine yards cos then maybe, just maybe they’re notice I am different
Maybe then they’d noticed that I hate myself, I hate myself for letting it happen, hate myself for not having the courage to say anything, hate myself for smiling at him in the morning.
Maybe then they’d notice the high pitched brittle laugh and that I’ve withdrawn into myself to forget the terror of nights past
Maybe then they’d notice how great an actress I am.They’d notice that he is killing my soul, making me afraid of the night