I was twenty two when I first realized that for some, I just won’t be enough.
That’s vague isn’t it?
I was twenty two when I first realized that for some girls, I just won’t be enough.
Warmer. But we’re not there yet.
I was twenty two when I first had my heart busted open by a girl whose eyes made me feel like I was being beaten by something so graceful it lacked a named.
For the sake of simplicity, I called it beauty.
And begged it to have mercy on me.
I’ve spent months not writing these words.
Spent months on my knees–
praying for forgiveness
at the alter of some pretty girls thighs.
No one taught me about the lies I would swallow
somewhere around four am
her teeth on my neck
her thigh between my legs.
Wolves still play dress up, you know?
They slip into skin
and appropriate pain.
They offer you sympathy in the form of a carnal symphony.
They’ll tell you they love you
And those big eyes will dilate,
no mercy on you.
30-something Mississippi queer. Bleeding heart with a soft spot for honesty and oversharing. Conquering corporate America and my own insecurities– one day at a time.