I am teenaged again, awkward and stumbling and
Using all the wrong words,
Overspeaking, oversharing, an onslaught of opinions
And data and questions and why would I even think you would care?
See, I am only covering up teenaged self-doubt with
The slather of words I might hide behind:
Too many stories, too loose and uncovered, to try to show
That I am not afraid of baring myself to you,
That I do not fear rejection because I know myself to be worthy of your
Time, or at least attention.
But these are all lies; I am maybe an adequate match to you sometimes.
It is possible that we might enjoy each other's company.
And I should be grown enough
To leave it at that, to abandon the self deprivation and the fear and stress,
To stand in my sovereignty and maturity, except
Alongside the insecurity comes teenaged desire, curiosity, instinct,
The kind of lust that would meet you after school
Or in a hotel bar bathroom, for the sake of
Touching you, of knowing what it is to taste your mouth.
For these base and basic feelings
I cede adulthood in an instant, give up security or self possession without a thought
To be driven by full-blooded need;
I need to know you better.