Working at a job I adored,
with people I admired.
Devastation abruptly changed my job status:
My first love bellowed my name,
waiting for the first stroke to her skin
to reveal what’s within.
But I didn’t see her.
Monetary compensation snatched from my hands.
My first love tugged me softly, as the weight
of the world sat on my shoulders.
But I didn’t feel her.
Uncertainty chained my hands
while my first love had the key.
Affirmation of what’s within were still on her tongue.
She asked for just one kiss in black ink.
But I couldn’t taste her.
Sleep ran away from me as the days ran together.
Looking for better only to find a pandemic lurking
beneath my parents’ beds.
My first love only asked for a moment of my time.
But I didn’t make time for her.
The dust didn’t settle, but I finally saw her.
Sitting in my corner with a sword to help me fight.
My first love gave me strategy
as I began to stroke in between her crevices.
Reflection trickled down my spine.
She handed me the sword to fight against the mayhem.
My first love cleared the smoke and revealed my enemy.
Her strategy worked.
My first love has always been down for me despite my disloyalty.
The remedy to everything.
The point of transformation.
The space to release.
My first love will forever be my everything to say the least.
By: Jasmine Farrell