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I always viewed myself as art,
And I'm hyper critical of everything I paint.
.
I don't kiss.
I mean. I suppose I've tried to twice.
Perfect boy, perfect body, perfect smile, not quite perfect me.
My front teeth were gifted to me in the third grade a size too big in hopes I'd grow into them.
he did a lot of things too fast for me to keep up that night, but when our teeth clonked together I had to pull away and laugh.
an awkward dance of tongues and I had two left feet.
I won't say I regret a thing though,
I felt honored to be considered a candidate for his 24 hour garentee.
for the first time in my life I didn't feel afraid of touch,
And I'll always secretly thank him for that.
However it didn't change the deep set insecurities of mine.
Perfect boy, perfect body, perfect mouth against mine in a way that made me perfectly terrified.
Completely opposite is the emo girl from ninth grade who left no room for Jesus like her mother wishes we would.
Her boyfriend wishes too.
But back then i had more guts, more charisma, more unmedicated manic episodes.
Her lips pressed against mine as we shared a chair in the library.
Black lipstick made of eyeliner mixing with strawberry lipgloss.
A moment in time spent between two friends that solidified theories that girls were beings of light and love and I was certainly not one of them.
I sometimes miss how it was back then.
More guts, more charisma, more developing mommy issues.
Which leads me to my latest anxiety.
One of the first fun facts you learned was I hate the feeling of a mouth against mine.
So why do I want to kiss you.
Soft hair, soft tone, soft skin, soft was not how id describe other parts of you though.
I felt our lips brush together as our foreheads leaned against each other.
Sure there was an urge to close the gap but I knew I'd be no good.
I mean with you I've learned I'm no good at anything with my mouth.
Besides my words, which drive you over the edge time, after time, after time.
Soft hair, soft tone, soft skin, soft breaths trying to catch whatever rhythm your lungs deemed fit.
So many things happened that night but all I can focus on is what I wanted to do as my head laid on your chest and my fingers brushed through your freshly cut hair.
Maybe it's the haze of endorphins,
But I wanted to leave traces of my red lipstick on your Adam apple, slowly kissing up your jaw as my hands cradle your cheek.
Assure you how well you did not with words but our lips connecting in a way I can imagine but simply don't have the nerve to do.
So now I lay in bed at 3:47 am, unaware when the next time Ill see you is again.
But maybe then I'll catch the guts of 14 year old me, and use the skills perfect boy gifted to me, to finally see if third time's the charm.
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