I wanted to give it once. Not for love, not for God, not for marriage. Just for me —to stop the counting. To stop the way I flinch when friends laugh about their first times, their bad ones, their funny ones, their strange ones. I have no story. Only a hallway. Only a door I keep polishing instead of opening.
But gifts are not supposed to ache.
I want to lay it down. Not dramatically. Not in a poem. Just quietly, on some Tuesday, with someone who doesn't want to take it but simply be there when it falls away like a cloak I never needed.
They call it a gift, this thing I carry. A ribbon of waiting. A lock without a key yet turned.
I wanted to give it once. Not for love, not for God, not for marriage. Just for me —to stop the counting. To stop the way I flinch when friends laugh about their first times, their bad ones, their funny ones, their strange ones. I have no story. Only a hallway. Only a door I keep polishing instead of opening.
But gifts are not supposed to ache.
I want to lay it down. Not dramatically. Not in a poem. Just quietly, on some Tuesday, with someone who doesn't want to take it but simply be there when it falls away like a cloak I never needed. my virginity is a burden iv missax
They call it a gift, this thing I carry. A ribbon of waiting. A lock without a key yet turned. I wanted to give it once