The shapes you traced on my back
(stars and diamonds, I think)
are shapes I hope I never forget.
Your fortune-cookie tongue on mine
is a taste I hope I never brush away.
Your hands climbing my ribs
beneath my shirt melted my skin
and now your handprints
are on my bones.
Somehow I forgave your silly lips,
which have locked with a thin-mouthed girl’s.
And then I forgave your clumsy hands, which grazed the thigh of a
And once again, I forgave your confused mind as you uttered my name,
to a girl who had her fingernails
and I forgave and f o r gave and f o r g a v e.
and now I am washing your scent
off my skin.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.