Devin Spencer wasn't just my boyfriend. He was my first love, and my first ALMOST everything. He was the first man I planned a future with, wanted to marry, and felt this deep, underlying emotion I never knew existed. He wasn't anything special really. He was actually no good for me. I loved being in love with someone I wasn't allowed to love. We dated for almost 11 months and the only way I can describe it is this. Imagine you are in your beautiful dream home that you built inside of your head, but you can never leave, and your share that house with the devil. Devin permanently damaged my eye a few years back in seventh grade and now I'm half blind. I still dated him, though. I still loved his big brown eyes, even if they would wander to other girls. I still loved his pretty smile, even thigh that mouth of his created thoughts indie my brain, clawing at my confidence. Making me wonder why I wasn't as good as the next girl. This poem will be the perspective of Devin, years after we dated. To this day we still talk, but this will be a short glimpse at the fact that sometimes, when a connection is there, it is almost unbreakable. ********************
We walk down the cold, empty streets. Her blonde hair is blowing in her face. She puts her hood on, then asks how she looks. She offers me drugs when she knows I can't take them. I hate this girl. I said you look fine. She looks at me with the piercing blue grey eyes that would get me every time. "You look cute" I said. She smiled that childlike smile. Her dimples pressed deeply into her cheeks. I love this girl. We reach a spot where we always seem to do bad things and sit down. I look into her eyes, there is nothing but relaxation, and the scar that I gave her two years ago. Is it bad that I was searching for love? She asked me if I was looking for something in her eyes. I smiled. She said to me "this is so bad." I kissed her, hard and passionate. "This is even worse." I said. Soon enough, body against body, we have become a work of art that is filled with nothing but lust and hate. Maybe a slight remembrance of love. It kept us wanting more time and time again. She is so sexy, the way her body moves and the way she looks at me. Her cold touch felt warm against my skin on this freezing night. When things were over, we would usually just get up and go, not talk, go about our business. But she made me laugh, and smile. So I stayed. The girl I currently love kept calling my phone, even during the most intimacy. I love her. Man she's crazy, but I love her. After I hung up in anger and defeat, I lay next to the blonde devil that haunts my head. Fuck, she loves me. We walk back into the dark streets, the light hitting her softly contoured face so gracefully. I grab her face and kiss her. "Thank you, you make me feel so good." I say to her almost innocent looking face. Her and I both know she's far from that. We hold hands in my pocket so nobody can see. She tells me "let me go in first." So nobody will suspect a thing. I watch her walk away into the place where everyone thinks that her and I are forbidden. She turns around and smiles at me. I don't love her. She loves me. Or wait, does she?
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The Joy Project
Non-FictionThis is a compilation of all meaningful things I've written or received. Some are happy, some are dark. Follow along to see how certain things in my life play out.
