The Joke
The joke was that I was seventeen In a pass-through town With nothing to do except repeat; The same lovers and the same laughs. The joke was that it was senior year And I never knew that my skin could ignite from The touch of your dancing fingers On my paper skin like magic. Months passed by like cars on the highway; Shooting stars could not slow us down. In January you asked me to be yours always But ‘always’ was just a filler to a void. Between secret loathing and bland kisses Your sweet mint turned to stale bubblegum, Your fingers derailed from my final destination To hers. Unapologetically, apologetically loving you, The sheets formed mountains over time Your hand no longer reached for mine But mine never stopped yearning for yours. Now I weep waterproof tears And hand out kisses like they’re trophies; A medal to each and every person Whose name sounds less and less like yours. 3 years later and your breath is still hot o...