The First Time I Regretted Sleeping With Someone

I listened to Sara Bareilles on the way home, a bus ride full of girl power. I was half stoned, sitting on a bruised tailbone. The first time I regretting sleeping with someone I had NJ transit take me home. It was poetic, in that sad way where you try to find poetry in worthless situations. It was poetic the way that death is poetic. It was art the same way a black eye is colorful.

The first time I regretted sleeping with someone, I did not anticipate regret. I got dressed up beforehand, I made myself desirable. I wrote a short poem on the way there, I titled it The Way You’ve Seen Me. The first time I regretted sleeping with someone, I wanted it so bad.

The first time I regretted sleeping with someone, it did not go as I expected. I love to kiss. I love to kiss as much as I did when I first discovered it. I love to kiss as much as I was I did when I was in 14 and a movie theater was the only dark privacy I could find to connect. He barely kissed me. The first time I regretted sleeping with someone.

The first time I regretted sleeping with someone, I found out what it is to be fucked. The first time I regretted sleeping with someone, I found out what it is to be used. The first time I regretted sleeping with someone, I bled because he didn’t take his time. I apologized. I apologized for his mistake.

The first time I regretted sleeping with someone, I did not sleep over. I could not share his bed, even though he offered to me. Afterwards, we laid together. He was distant, and I told myself this is what he’s like stoned. The first time I regretted sleeping with someone, he told me he had gotten back together with his ex-girlfriend. He said he didn’t understand why I couldn’t lay in the same bed with him. Intimacy and sex are not the same thing.