When I was eight he tried to steal my innocence.                                         

                      He tried to tear it from my small, young hands.                           

Attempted to take away my birth right.

But since then I’ve kept it close.

Never letting it out of my sight.

Though I’ve wandered

though I’ve stumbled,

though I’ve lost bits and piecesof it on the way, I try to be guiltless for fear it will disrupt the innocence.

But you came along.

The boy I had known for 5 years.

The boy I’d never really liked but was always here and there,

Not for me.

But in my vicinity.

Around, Here and there.

But I initiated the conversation with a simple question of “Who do you like”

“You.” Came the reply as you flipped your hair to one side out of your pale green eyes.

That led to touching

Kissing

Rubbing of bodies against linen. And I kind of tossed you my innocence.

Took it out of my pocket and offered it to you with shaky hands as if I were giving you the keys to my soul.

Kidney, lungs, liver, veins, ateries, heart, everything.

 But its fine because when it was over, you nestled your head into my neck, intertwined your fingers with mine and there we set a mangled heap of confusion and sweat, and for once I didn’t regret an impulsive decision.

 But the second time you didn’t hold me.

You didn’t nestle your head into my neck or intertwine your fingers with mine.

I guess you weren’t as confused as I was.

Looking into your green plant-like eyes I could tell that you’d been watered before.

 That day I that thieves can also come as beggers. Although I gave it to you, you took it like it with such nonchalantness befitting of a intruder. Treating what I had like it was your god-given right, your manifest destiny.

That day I learned that regret is unpredictable.

And to the boy I had known for 5 years, you must have gotten into my kidney, lungs, liver, veins, ateries, heart, because they all hurt.

 Just knowing you’ve got my innocence, just knowing it’s something you’ll have sitting on your shelf for the rest of your life hurts.

 But I guess what hurts more, is that I ant guarantee it won’t happen again.

 Like a dog that keeps going back to its shit thinking it will turn into a feast.