Aischa Daughtery
The Boys
the boys wear twenty matching ties and
chant, kiss, kiss, kiss, outside the bakers
so I flick my shiny, pleated hair behind
my shoulders and purse my mango-lipgloss-lips
for Elliott, whose dimples match my own and
looks like he associates with The Jonas Brothers
his mate pushes him into me and he laughs
without so much as an apology, spits and turns away
I can't complain, he wants to spend time
with his friends: the other boys who text me
wink faces at night and spit shut up at me
the next morning when I am talking too loud
————
I find comfort in boys like Joseph, who insists
on walking me to my front door after school
and waves to my parents when they drive
past him, even when he is not alone, it’s not
embarrassing because my mum is FIT and my dad
drives a Jag, although everybody else says I’m a slut
ignore them, they don’t even know you
but he does. he knows that I feel much older than
those who surround us and I he knows that I shake
when I cry and the other boys don’t know that
Joseph and I carved our names inside a heart into
a bench in the woods behind my house until
they are drinking and pissing behind it years later
with Joseph, who doesn’t talk to me now because
I’m not the hottest girl in the year anymore
———
the boys from out of town feel exotic so when Sam tries
to feed me my first cigarette and sits me on his lap in his
parents garden, I accept. they feel exciting and grown-up
so I roll my eyes when my mother insists that Zack
isn’t good enough and I hold my breath when Reanne is gentle
for the first time, they really do only want one thing, I’m sorry
but its okay, because I’ve recently discovered fake-tan makes
me look thinner and the older boys think I am a catch because
I’m getting particularly good at makeup for my age and I admit there is
nothing weird about girls masturbating whilst the other girls cringe at the thought
———
one boy calls me good girl
when I meet him in my school uniform
one boy says he won't miss me
but he’ll miss the sex
one boy doesn't like it when girls say no
and I have never taken a taxi home
from so far away
before
The First Time
not because she drives and it’s hot as hell
or because she bought me sweets from an expensive shop
or because she let me see her parents house for the first time
paintings by her father and traditional interior
traditional like her mother so we shouldn't stay long
no photographs of her since she turned 16 but of her brother at 20
the second her bedroom door is closed
I learn exactly why she calls herself an artist
my body looks younger than hers and it is
so I try hard to prove my own artistry as mature
but she doesn’t get it, immune to my touch
she has never cared for anybody
I feel like I am trespassing on her body
so soft and warm to touch but working
the night shift and unable to let loose
but something in my magnetism loosens her
maybe I am harder to crack than the others
but I doubt it, or maybe we’re in love already
I am unsure whether to linger so I kiss her cheek instead
she thanks me and I smile because it's pure
but it isn't really
because we have a conversation in silence
and I notice the way she closes her eyes too tight
the way she mothers her mother and her life is a secret
because of how it made me feel when she jerked in her sleep the following night the way I stayed up for hours, rationing her stillness
and watching our silhouette, painted on the white wall
because of how kindly she speaks of those who have done her wrong
when you smashed her backbone off that brick wall,
it shattered completely
because I can’t just watch as she fears her own desires
not even the way I fear wearing my ‘no to homophobia’ t-shirt in front of my grandad nor the way I fear loud groups of men in darkened alleys when I’m alone
but the way I feel when he says we're, "not quite right"
when they get bigger and faster and start following me
because I know that I can piece her together
and, in time, I will be able to hold her
like she was never held,
like she is holding me
Aischa Daughtery is an English Literature student at the University of Glasgow and is based in the city centre, where she performs her word at spoken-word events weekly. Since self-publishing a zine full of her poems last May, Aischa has built up a small but loyal online fanbase as a writer. She has had poems published in She is Fierce magazine and qmunicreate, qmunicate magazine’s online creative writing section.