Seventeen
When you meet a boy on the beach at night at 17, it's love at first sight
It was dark when I met you
But your vibes were bright
No amount of words could explain
How I felt on the beach that night
You blew smoke into my lungs
But your kiss took me higher
When you talked about your passions
I could swear your eyes were on fire
Your touch drowned me faster
Than the ocean ever could
When I asked if you wanted to swim
I already knew you would
With such a free spirit
You stripped down to nothing
But oh, God
It was everything
The sand has yet to come out of my hair
Since that night
But I’m starting to think
Maybe that’s alright
I’ll put on your sunglasses
When my eyes need a shield
The only thing that proves
You were real
.
© 2013 Jessica Wolf
A poem I wrote the summer I was 17, inspired by a night spent on the beach with my best friends and some strangers we met along the way.
About the Creator
Jessica Wolf
A creator, writing.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from Jessica Wolf and writers in Poets and other communities.
making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar7 days ago in Feast
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.