The first boy I kissed smelled like a woman.
He wore white on rainy days and I had to teach him how to put his hands lower on my back.
The last man I kissed knew exactly where to put his hands. And how to kiss places I didn't know could be kissed.
He smelled like a man, reeked of ownership.I had to teach him how to not possess me.
YOU ARE READING
Purple blush
Poetry''Everything you did to me, I remember. Mama, I made it out of your home alive, raised by the voices in my head. '' -Warsan Shire, Extreme girlhood
