When you first kissed me,
I was two steps behind
my sloppy circle dance routine,
You were two steps ahead
and I couldn’t trust my vision to cover the distance
of those five steps separating us.
So I willed my leg to stretch
as far as my skin would allow
in attempt to lunge myself closer to you,
but I was too awkward and weak.
I leaned too far forward
and landed on my chin.
When I rolled over, laid flat on my back,
I could see you more clearly.
Your figure was no longer distorted by distance,
but it was now limited to a single viewpoint:
you standing tall above me.
The second time you kissed me,
you flat out told me
you felt you were taking advantage.
I was too much of too many things,
which made the validity of my consent
I was drawn to this candor of yours,
the trait you felt burdened by.
Few people are so fearlessly honest
and even fewer enjoy being on the receiving end.
People like their sugar-coated replies.
But my New Year’s resolution
was to be more straightforward
and I found your brutally frank approach attractive.
I know I can be easily influenced,
but I negated your concern
because I didn’t feel
like you were taking advantage of me.
I trusted you.
I have a habit of pouring trust
into all that touch my soul
before they’ve even had
the opportunity to earn it.
The fourth time we kissed
you told me you didn’t love me.
The idea had never crossed my mind,
I never expected you to love me,
but acknowledging an absence
of love hurts.
The eight time we kissed,
you told me you had a superior sense of smell.
You can smell women on your brother
and when he’s drinking
from across the hall.
You worry about him.
I wonder why you could never
smell the vomit on my hands.
When your brother came home
you threw the sheets over my head,
you told me to stay quiet and still.
I’ve always hated having
my head under the covers,
it feels like I’m suffocating.
The first time I slept beside you,
I awoke with a dark and heavy soul;
a slick, black stone.
I’d always dreamed of sleeping
next to a boy
who treated me with tenderness,
who made me feel sweet and soft and sound.
You were not that boy.
You put a stone in my soul.
The last time we kissed
you reminded me
that I wasn’t your girlfriend
and you were fine
with things staying that way.
I realized that I was fine
with us being nothing.
That is when I rose back onto my feet
and stood before you,
my vision no longer distorted,
neither by distance nor perspective.
I now see you as you are.
I will always have a fondness for you,
but now the spell is broken;
I am unenchanted.