As readers I trust your capabilities to understand in which perspective the following writing is written from. It’s seeing what she sees
I met a boy who wrote poetry for me.
He said he would make my skin his canvas and paint all these images on it; That I’d become his art.
I met a boy
He had a gap in his teeth but when he smiled my heart caught on fire.
He wasn’t really great at singing but he’d sing me to sleep; It would then be that I didn’t want to sleep, I wanted to hear him more.
Mom, I met a boy.
He charmed me; he told me he liked my nonsense. He said he would like to explore the galaxy of my mind. I’d be the captain, he’d be the spaceship, and together we’d steer through it.
He makes me blush. Honestly sometimes I think horny.
Dad, I met a boy
I think I like him. He doesn’t make me feel alone. Even though I play hard to get.
I met a boy who told me he’ll undress me with words. He told me the day he touches me and undresses me with his hands, and paint on my skin with his tongue, my knees would buckle like a new born giraffe.
I wonder what that would be like; To be explored by him. To have his fingers dance on my body like a ballerina.
I met a boy
He made me curious, so I want to try and take an adventure with him.