i love the way your lips looked
as your band of predators
circled us.
i was the wounded animal
that they were waiting for you
to sink your menacing teeth into.
"get your girl."
the killers always want a show, now
don't they?
i'm sorry
that i didn't make an advance.
i didn't spring forth
and decide
i want this more
than the warmth your arms provide.
i don't know you
and you didn't seem that interested in me anyways;
just my body
but that's okay because
at least your friends know my name.
so i guess your tongue
paints their minds with my name
at least when
you talk vulgarly
about what you'll do to me when
you
finally get me alone.
i am terrified
of new lips
on new people.
especially when the lips
are doing more than just talking
and i sure as hell was tempted
by the way your fingers
flirted with the hem of my jeans
and the way
my hand was locked
in yours.
that one was the most difficult riddle
to decipher
because i could not
for the life of me
figure out if it was
genuine.
you told them about
your plans for me.
you swore:
"i will"
"i'm going to"
but will you?
that's the real question.
i don't know when
we'll see eachother again.
i am almost positive that,
in all the time we spent in the dark,
i didn't
even look you in the damn eyes.
i was enraptured
by your hand
resting on a place
where hands
don't normally rest.
but maybe it was the day
or the tempurature.
but now
everytime i think
about seeing you again
something like panic
sits in between my lungs
and lodges itself
between one of my ribs.
YOU ARE READING
poems they'll never see
Şiiri'm a pussy and these are words i didn't say because i was afraid i'd sound too smart. i also don't give a shit how this does in terms of "popularity" because this is simply another journal; just digital instead of paper and ink.