Only he
Could make me feel guilty for wanting to kiss him.
Telling me we’ve made out a lot (plenty) this weekend,
Making me feel like a foolish child who tries to horde too much candy at once.
Only he
Could make me feel in the wrong
For feeling dejected
About being rejected,
Like a pouty child in the toy isle, clasping a Barbie in her small chubby arms and a tear rolling down her cheek.
But I am not seven years old;
I only clasp my fists inside my coat pockets,
And no tears emerge as I suppress a sigh of disappointment.
Only he could make me feel as guilty as a small child,
When I’m acting totally rational for my age.