I remember when I first thought
I was in love.
I was 14 and thin and confused
I used a girl to cure my sexual curiosity,
so I held her hand in public and told her
that I wanted
them to see.
I knew she would smile,
squeeze me tight, tell me I love you.
I played her System of a Down, Hypnotize,
she played me Maroon 5, Songs About Jane.
I pierced my belly button, she thought it was sexy,
it bled for days.
I regretted it.
Her breath reminded me of
left over spaghetti, goat’s milk,
something sour. When I wanted to feel her lips
I would suggest that she taste me
my other lips,
the day she told me to taste her
was the day I figured out
I was not in love.