It all starts off innocent,
you're oblivious.
One day she's inching toward you,
smiling...

And then you realize it.
You fell in love
all that time she was talking
like it was nothing.
Innocent. You forget things:
how i make little moans in my sleep
and reach for you the second i wake up...

And then you realize it.
I'm states away.  We don't even know where we'll be in a few years.
It seems useless; and there she is
smiling
skinnier
you picture her new nipples.
A rush of excitement...

And then i forgive you.
And then you're relieved. But guilt follows you around
until you have to destroy me.
You can't stand to see me outside my cradle
accumulating more chances to blame you
for looking away, even for a second.

People make mistakes.  And then people are suddenly suspicious
that their subconscious will get them drunk and curious any minute,
and lead them down an unexplored hallway
and rob them of their content
again and again
until they are nothing but a turbine of disappointment

kinkygirlx, did you just want to read some poetry
but upon violation of the blogging community's terms of use
you were stricken from all cyber-testimony
moments after you came upon a stranger's writing?

Two of my own friends took advantage of my teenage sister in just one short weekend!
They touched her everywhere they could:
her skinny pale legs, the scar that hovers
over her bellybutton like a moon.  I was drunk, asleep in my bedroom.

kinkygirlx, does the x mean a kiss
or x as in the first in a sucession of typically capitalized x's
to denote in pornographic material not suitable
for the poor celibate cherubs under 17?

They rubbed her small breasts, her once broken collarbone,
still slightly jumbled beneath the skin of her left shoulder.

kinkygirlx, are you really young enough
to be just a girl, a kinky one at that
one that likes strange or even violent sexual encounters
enough to make it her publicly known name?

My sister isn't familiar
with the dialect of no she needed
to chaperon herself in such strange situations
to descend barefoot from the leather couch and hide
where? under the kitchen table? in the crumbling fireplace?

kinkygirlx, do you like poetry
despite the fact that you spent so much time making porn?
did you always fancy yourself a sylvia plath
or an anne sexton, swathed in spray tan
fuck me echoing through your swinging tonsils
the thumping more and more like a warning?

If i could pick anybody to love my poetry,
it would be the other poets
it would be you, kinkygirlx.

In her own sister's living room
they touched her as if to say, Beware.

Brandon, do you remember
when me, Brittany, and Meg fell asleep in your dorm room
and your hands found their way up, up my shirt?
I do. I remember it very well, because it was so strange,
your poor pretty girlfriend was just a state or two away
and we'd said nothing about touching before, or after
when you reconsidered and drew away, your hard-on pressed against me.


I'm not angry.  In a way, I actually feel sorry.
I see you on campus sometimes. You try and keep cool,
but I always see something squirming in your eyes.


Danny, do you remember
when you fell asleep next to my nearly unconscious body
and your hand found its way down, down into my jeans?
I do.  I remember it very well, because it was so strange
that I was so drunk I'd flushed my phone down the toilet
and the last thing I remember is falling asleep alone,
and I promptly removed your hand when I discovered it there in the morning.


It made me a little angry.  In a way, I actually feel sorry.
I told everyone how weird I thought you were, even though
I know you're just lonely and never get laid.


John, do you remember
when you fell asleep between me and Thea
and your hands found their way up, up my shirt? and down my jeans?
I do.  I remember it very well, because it was so strange,
that your girlfriend was laying on the other side of you,
that I couldn't bring myself to move, or to tell her when we woke up,
that she apologized for you a few days later.


It made me angry. In a way, I actually feel sorry.
She said I was a good friend.  I don't know what you told her
about that night, but I always imagine her squirming on the other side.