Gala

I was 13 when I first went to bed with a curdling pot of worms inside my chest

Fetal position and half asleep, beneath the sheets,

thinking of the world and all the love and all the love that’s lost

between lovers and loves,

and wonder if I’d ever

feel the same way too.

 

Here I am now counting the days till I’ll turn 20

Been through the highways and alleyways of attraction, seduction, love, sex

Or at least I thought I was,

Pretended to knew it all like the back of my hand

As if it was easy to understand

 

Since then I’ve been jaded

Words and v-day cards and carnation pinks wrapped in paper

Candle-light dates and walks home and holding hands,

Tender embraces, secret kisses, late night talks

and all the love songs don’t mean a shit

 

And I’d like to think I’ve slept around sleepless,

spent hours trying to look for something meaningful,

than Hi’s, Hello’s, and booty calls,

or so I thought they were

Raindrops of affection,

when at the end of the day I was looking for a storm.

 

But not until the day I’ll meet her on a rainy summer’s eve,

And she’ll remind you of the sun and the cool breeze and the indigo,

And suddenly all the songs will make sense once more,

She’ll be the storm you’d gladly brave,

and all the worms inside your chest start digging again

 

and wonder if she’d ever

feel the same way too

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