Act my age?
What the fuck is that, “act my age”?
What do I care how old I am?
The Ocean is old as fuck.
It will still drown your ass with vigor.
never break a writer’s heart.
we will drown you in the ink
of the words you never said
and laugh as you struggle,
because didn’t you always say
you wanted a poem all your own?
We missed it.
Those sun-drenched bodies,
love like honey into
each other’s mouths.
We kissed like we were
licking spoons clean.
We lost it but God,
I’ll think of you.
I’ll think of you there.
When a boy tells you he loves you, doubt him. Narrow your eyes and look at him with suspicion. Stop talking to him for three days and stop answering his texts. See if he grows tired of you. Or bored. If you find him making a phone out of tin cans and string, that means he’s trying.
On your first date, wear a lace bra and see-through shirt and see if he treats you like a body instead of a person. See if he can even look you in the eyes. See if he talks more than he listens.
Take him to a bar and watch what he does when he thinks you aren’t looking. See if his eyes undress every saint and sinner in the room.
See how patient he is. Use your lips and your hips and your hands. Bring him within an inch of lust and take it away. See how he responds.
When a boy tells you he loves you, ask him how much. If he tells you in texts of size 12-point font, ask him to tell you again in person because you’ll want to remember this moment. You’ll want to know how his voice falters and shakes, how he fumbles for words. You’ll want to remember the exact rhythm of his heaving chest when he tries to explain that pieces of you have made a home in his lungs.
And so if he arrives at your door, and throws the words in your face, deadpan, you’ll know that not even God could bring them back to life.