stumble, stumble, stumble
a poem from my early tulsa days… it’s rough and seems unfinished. some part of me likes that more than polished.
To all the boys I let kiss me:
I was a mistake.
I’m not what you need.
I am not your salvation.
Salvation doesn’t look like
a nappy headed girl with knobby knees.
Salvation doesn’t take a shot like a champ,
doesn’t say your name with hesitancy,
doesn’t avoid your eyes,
doesn’t hold her hands at her side
while you move your lips across her body.
And though salvation might be black,
she doesn’t lie when she says she loves you.