Our lips kiss in my head
full of fog.
I’m tired and dizzy
and quite frankly, annoyed
that you keep
living in my head
when I need to be focused.
When I need to be paying attention
you and your laugh and your witty jokes
find a way to snake into my head
and into my heart.
In my imagination,
your lips feel soft and warm.
I crave your touch
like a child craves cookies,
always wanting more and more
until nothing is left.
Until the world has fallen away
and all that’s guiding us
is the light in our souls
and the music in our hearts.
Yet my chest tightens
as the fog around me gets
higher and higher
and suddenly I can’t see
anything around me,
trapped in a mess of haze
and grey
and imagined kisses
I know will never exist
no matter how much
I will them into my conscious.
I was never like other girls
who have the confidence to kiss guys
or date at fourteen
or have sex at eighteen
or anything else
confident girls do because
I’m a flower in the way of the path
so everyone keeps stepping on it.
I’m an aluminum can
in the middle of the road
so everyone keeps driving over it.
I’m the unavoidable obstacle
in Mario Kart you keep not missing,
making you want to throw your controller
at your TV.
I’m fragile and broken
and sad.
So confidence?
Confidence was never
something I had.
So I’ll play your laugh
in my head like a laugh track
on a comedy show.
I’ll see your smile in my mind,
holding onto it like a jar of fireflies.
I’ll imagine your lips on mine,
soft and warm and ever so slightly full of alcohol
and it’ll be the you-est thing you could possibly do
and I’ll love it
just as much
as I love you.
