May 4th, 2018. I remember being excited to go, sure. It's always great to spend time with friends; I just wish high school gave us more party-like environments that didn't require us to break the bank.
After getting ready, I rode the high from your awe once struck with a picture of me up until 11 p.m. I couldn't wait to go out to dinner with you.
I was nervous but couldn't tell who was more excited: me, or my mother. She would've never let me leave the house if she knew what we had planned for one another.
This moment comes up often but I think it's because this was the quietest I had ever heard you. You brought two ties so I could pick what I liked best.
At the diner, the high collar of my dress felt like it was choking me and I could barely eat any of my vegetable omelet. I swear I saw your hands shaking too, though.
May 5th, 2018. When we got to your house, you gave me some of your clothes to wear. I didn't go elsewhere to change, just told you to turn your back and dropped my dress. You didn't turn back around until I said you could, but oh how I had wanted you to disobey.
Our first kiss is best compared to that drink of water you find yourself stumbling towards at 3 a.m. Desperate, consumed in gulps, and some of it escapes your lips to dribble down your chin but you don't care because you are thirsty.
I had never had a kiss that left me feeling so raw afterwards.
YOU ARE READING
twoball screwball
Poetryhigh school was a difficult time filled with even more difficult poetry. there are plenty of thoughts and writings that i created during this time that have done nothing but collect dust. i'm going to try and give them another chance at life here. ...
