The blog of Tracy Barbour, a New York City Street Photographer and Photojournalist

The Boy Who Wouldn't Kiss Me


To the boy who wouldn't

kiss me

And the man who refused  

to hold my hand  

You do not get to choose  

you do not know

Who I am  

Your lips are like gravel  

where mine are sweet

They taste like violet lipgloss

and my breath like  

Cherry cola tic-tacs  

But you pay it no mind  

your hand will never feel  

Mine in the dark  

when you can't sleep and  

The monsters come  

the darkness rolls up into

A million black nights 

They are soft

My hands  

Soft like finely made cocoa butter

They give  

these hands  

They give  

but not to you  

Your refusals are felt  

are heard, are not taken lightly

You do not get to choose  

and I get all of me  

But none of you  

Because you refused  

To kiss

To hold  

To receive