Maybe It’s Not Sex
Yes I’m scared…
I’m scared of sex.
I’m scared of sex with you, more importantly.
It’s not all just the act itself.
It’s the feelings I’m already trying to get rid of.
It’s the way you treat me.
It’s how sweet you are a times when no one’s around.
It’s the fact my family likes you.
It’s the fact I like your family.
It’s the other girls.
It’s the L word being thrown around.
It’s the weight I feel on my chest.
It’s your bad lung and my bad attitude.
It’s the way you smell and the way you taste.
It’s the PDA we subject our friends to.
It’s the things I know and the things you don’t.
It’s the things you know and the things I don’t.
It’s my anxiety.
It’s the heavy breathing you cause every time you touch me.
It’s the condoms you bought.
It’s the birth control I’m not on.
It’s 18 years.
It’s the crush I had/have.
It’s the way you look at me.
It’s the internet.
It’s porn.
It’s the secrets I keep.
It’s the ones you already know.
It’s your tongue and your teeth.
It’s you as an idea.
It’s the music you make.
It’s pictures I draw.
It’s the way you piss me off.
It’s the way you make me happy.
It’s me.
It’s you.
It’s sex.
It’s fucking terrifying.
YOU ARE READING
The Collection of Shit About "Him"
PoetryIt's all true. It's happy at times but mostly sad.
