Grief Written

My hair is curling around his fingers like a promise, Neon lights glaring in the background, The smell of syrup and rain in the air because we're kissing in an old diner parking lot. And all I can think is "this is poetry." He's smiling against my lips, and I exhale softly, Trying to hold back the words "We're poetry." And I don't have time to say them because he's kissing me again, Pausing only to tell me "people are watching but I don't care." I'm warm despite the rain. His hands are still in my hair. It's all poetry. My heart is ticking like a clock because I need to go, And I've said goodbye three times but the words simply fall out of my mouth onto the floor, And our hands are too busy reaching for each other to pick them up and pocket them. Suddenly I'm in the drivers seat with one hand stumbling with a key and an ignition, the other on your face as I continue to kiss you. The rain is fal

I'm scared to fall in love again. Every boy I've loved had matchstick fingers they lit against my skin ever time they touched me. And I allowed them to do so, Watching the flames getting closer, And yet I was surprised every time they burned me. My god damn heart is singed, But it's still willing to lend its heat to anyone who needs to warm their hands. How do I put out the flames without turning cold? When will I stop flinching every time someone reaches out to touch me? I cannot keep burning to keep others warm.