In my life, I had hoped that all the lips I'd kiss would kiss mine because they liked that my words painted flowers. Did you even know my words had the power to do that? Did you kiss me because my lips dripped with knowledge and intellect that tickled yours? Or merely because my physicality attracted your eyes?
The kiss has become underrated, and plenty of you have ruined it for me. I remember my first one vividly; I was only a young child, so innocently exploring the tropes of romance. Did you kiss me because I was a fun and witty young lady or simply because, well, I was a girl? It’s hard to decipher which kisses meant something and which happened merely as a kissing event, a timely happening of a necessary occurrence in my life. Why I call them necessary is beyond me, but I like to hold on to the belief that everything happens for a reason to ease my mind a little about the things that conjure guilt and regret inside me.
To the one boy I loved who I kissed many times, tentatively and with passion unleashed: did the kisses ever feel so passionate when you kissed me? I remember that your lips seemed numb, motionless and not trying, but I thought of it as a lack of practice on the skill. Was that actually just a reflection of the boredom you felt when you kissed me? Was I simply a tool to get in the practice you needed in order to say that you’d experienced all the weird stages of teenage-hood? Did you ever feel the love and pain pouring out of me into you as our salivas meshed to create the sap that so vigorously gave me life? Did I ever tell you that the venom we made was poisonous and infected me with a craving that often dries out my throat, longing for you to fully satiate it. I bet you never thought that your taste would linger on my palette and forever keep your essence wondering tastefully on my tongue. I bet you never knew I’d forever wear your scent heavily in my words, every one that was spewed as an angry poem or written as a lustful role call for lovers.
Little boy, I bet you never thought I’d remember it so long. The first time you used your tongue—warm, slithering, slimy and adamant—to separate my lips and create a small parting, only big enough to let you push your taste buds on top of mine. Remember how you’d always ask if I took a shower right before because I smelled like strawberries or flowers or bubblegum or all the sweet things you tasted on me? I did. I hope the memories of my fruity fragrances still linger around you and pinch your nostrils with memories of me. I hope you never forget that sweet air that brushed between us when I sat on your lap hunched over as you laid flat on your back, a thick, white feather comforter thrown over us and my hands in yours as I held them down above your head. I hope you never forget the moment before that kiss; I know you saw me say I love you with my eyes. Yours said them back too. Thank you for teaching me even eyes can lie.
To all the boys that have kissed my lips after alcohol had inhibited my body: I hope you know I’ve forgiven you. It took me many years to realize that you had taken advantage of me, and I still called so many of you friends. I hope you know that those of you that took advantage of my body when I couldn’t take care of it myself have been engraved with hot, burning tongs on the inside of my thighs. For those of you that have tried to have your name written any further than that, may God bless your soul. I hope it doesn’t eat at your brain too much because it no longer eats at mine. May God forgive you because my red heart already has.
To all the boys that have kissed me to prove how "easy" I was: congratulations. You’ve just unveiled one more lonely girl and chose to laugh at her despite her anguish. I hope you know I was looking for comfort in you when my world seemed empty and comfortless. Yes, you hammered some nails into the coffin that was closing in on my impending doom. But somehow, the louder you roared in laughter, the more strength my close-to-morbid arms gained to push the top of that casket open before I was put 6 feet under. It's okay though, so forgive yourself. You got to taste the love of a young girl with nothing but love to give.
To all the boys that kissed me intently, urgently, lovingly, comfortably, uninhibited and unquestioning: thank you for pouring the truth of honest affection between my lips. The spark that ignited in my body travels with me every day, giving me the ability to remain the sensual being I’ve found myself to be, time and time again. Thank you for showing me that someone that really wants me will stop at my lips, separating theirs from mine to ask before they put their hands on my hips. Thank you for teaching me what it means to feel love come inside me, passion enthrall me and care swaddle me. The way you gently messaged these lips, that suck in corporate poisons to negate thoughts about the kisses that poisoned me, made my being soar beyond the clouds.
An open letter to all the boys that have kissed me: you’ve taught me plenty, and I’m not sorry you’ll never get to kiss the newer, sweeter version of me.
