I’ve never been good at holding back my tongue.
With one little quip my mouth runs away from me
I’ll show you my ugly before anything else
I’d rather have my thoughts on a megaphone so you will never second guess who I am or where I stand
and my thoughts are cautionary tape: don’t get too close
At least, that’s what I’ve told myself again and again; like a broken record, I remind myself the dangers of people. We’re all just disappointments.
I’ve been so good at keeping people at a distance
but you, oh God you, you snuck up on me.
You’ve seen me spit fire as if it’s my mother tongue and instead of recoiling you’ve looked me straight in the eye.
“Bullshit.“
I’ve never had anyone call me out on a bluff like you.
I wonder if I would have run away if I caught on sooner, if I knew I would allow myself to rest my head on your thighs instead of in between them.
And for the first time in a long time my mouth is dry as if I’ve sucked all the air from the room. A quietness settles over me as words escape me.
I’m speaking in a language I’ve never spoken before, all soft gazes and gentle touches.
How do I tell you I love you when the word is foreign on my tongue?