the second boy i’ve kissed here with tongue has thinner lips
than the movie tickets i had cut my fingers on to watch
a coming of age flick rated 4.7 stars out of 10. maybe practice
makes perfect but the sessions sure aren’t. i duck into a
corner and hide from sharp eyes who know that showing up
uninvited is only for quarterbacks with skulls crushed into
medals of sophomore-year honor, senior girls with swaying
hips they’d promised a good time yet still deposited here,
shallow apologies shackling their hands. just a little bit of
aloofness is allowed, as a treat — an appetizer only
for boys wrapped in faux leather jackets and painstaking
nonchalance; meanwhile, being present at all makes
people recoil if you’re a negative space in the walls: a
ravenous phantom here to struggle — to sample a
rendezvous that you cannot pronounce, to taste mandated
teenage rebellion and sirens on a school night. and
no, you cannot just take two bites and leave. it’s rude to
the hosts who left before you. so tonight, while i find
crumbling convenience store lipstick to be the only thing
that tastes bearable with stolen alcohol in red plastic,
it kills me to ignore hospitality. i gorge on the tongue of a
third boy and call it an act of grace. serve him dessert
by leaving a crimson lip on his empty beer can. after all,
i can tell he’s starving just from the way he’s here.
Grace Liang is a teen writer from Toronto. She enjoys reading fan fiction, watching video essays, sleeping, and playing piano. Find her on Instagram at @yf.grace.