We were teenagers,
that age where your world
feels like the whole world,
that age where everything
is entirely within your little hands,
but somehow, you have control
over nothing,
nothing at all.
We were teenage girls
sat across from each other,
hunched as gargoyles, a pool
of candle light between us
like a campfire,
the blank darkened ceiling
like a new moon night sky.
Words slipped between us,
back and
forth, hovering
over the heat of the candles.
I could not look into her eyes,
but I think now
that she was looking into mine,
and she said to me, excited
and timid in the same breath,
hands twitching and fumbling,
"Do you ever just look at someone
and think 'I could kiss you right now?'"
I said something like
"I don't know"
or "maybe"
but meant instead the words
"Kissing you would be like
laying under a sky full of stars
and hoping that I don't fall in.
Kissing you would be like blowing
the candles out on my birthday
and making everyone eat my breath
on the frosting. Kissing you
would be like reading a new word
in the dictionary and never using it
but knowing still
that I could.
Kissing you would be kissing you,
and it would hurt so sweet
and simple
that I may never
be the same."
We did not kiss then, just spoke
more words and avoided
eye contact, our breath heavy
and falling
into each other's hands.
YOU ARE READING
These People and I
PoetryThis year for National Poetry Writing Month, I want to challenge myself by mostly writing about people I wouldn't normally write about. This could include people from my past, present, or even future. I'll be adding a new poem by midnight each day i...
