In the 5th grade, my counselor met with

My class, and asked if any of

Us planned on taking drugs or

Smoking

She was met with a very stern no,

And she was very very proud of us.

In the 9th grade, my first kiss

Tasted like cigarettes

I didn’t really mind,

Because the mole near her

Lower left lip, and her golden hair left

Her with an abundance of beauty

I thought maybe my old counselor

Would be mad, but where she was,

I didn’t know.

I do know, that out friends were very very proud of us.

In the 10th grade, my lips first felt the

Touch of a cigarette

It tasted more like sin, than it had before

It no longer seemed like innocent

Fun, but it’s a habit I

Haven’t stopped since

And it’s stayed with me through

The heartbreak,

The scars,

The unfulfilled promises

And sometimes I think my old counselor would be mad

She said she never would be, though;

In fact, for living with baggage for this long

She may be very very proud of us.