They told me I tasted like strawberries.

When their lips crashed onto mine,

their smug face,

and the laughter of the crowd.

12 years old and already discovering the feeling of red,


strawberries are my favorite fruit

I like to eat them from the bottom up,

chocolate, cream, or plain

the tart and sweet mix together.

I tasted like strawberries.


The next time I didn’t taste like strawberries,

only the tiring taste of cotton mouth and

fantasies of romance I never want to pursue,

The next time I sigh and smile and laugh,

walking home with a tight head and a tight heart,

pushing down that red,

red eyes, red nose, red lips

red mind,

I walk home hoping for some strawberries.

This poem is about: 


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