by Jasmyne K. Rogers
I met love when my journey with puberty
had reached its peak
it came disguised as the complex simplicities
embedded in the companionship of boys in which
my interests were piqued
as I peeked in on the cluster of giggles that escaped my sister-cousins
as they gathered their feelings—laying each premature emotion on the bed
where they sat Indian-style
and sped through discussions that highlighted their lackluster feminine wiles
while I gathered their premature emotions and messy feelings and molded them to fit my own style.
I met love in the prime of my younger days
when he always wore a Kool-aid smile and cool gaze
when the younger self is amazed by the complicated maze
that taints love
as I sat and watched my sister-cousins clinging to those overly grown emotions
and scattered feelings now strewn on the bed.
The expedited discussions were now dead
muffled by the tears as they shuffled through the tiers
that they associated with love.
I fed my heart with their ideas
on having met love when he appeared
in each disguise
as he laughed at my awkwardness and lackluster feminine wiles.
I cried at every implicit “no”
as I dissected each neglected feeling I had for show
instead of them being lined up on the bed
they were closeted
no one would know that I met love when I was childish
listening in on stories that are now mine to tell
the abandoned giggles left in a room
with a full-sized bed full of
unresolved feelings on having met love
but never meta-love…
until I met my Self.
Like this poem? Connect with Jasmyne K. Rogers on Twitter @poetic_jaszy.
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