Nothing But You

We spent fall comparing
guns and graffiti
and wearing diamonds around our necks.

I felt like you weren't
supposed to become a man.
Not now.
Not at all.

I learned too soon
about the tainted bodies and faces
covering your wall
and that if you did
become a man
I would join the ranks of those girls
no matter how hard
I tried to stay
barefoot and dreaming.

You told me
that I wasn't allowed to grow up.
Not now.
Not ever.

You said you were always
going to protect me,
no matter what,
and the boys who waited
next to our tree house
wouldn't be allowed to
stain me as long as you were around.

And you always would be.

I spent the summer
listening to the doors creak
open and closed
and whispers fly through windows
and watching the boys get
impatient, waiting on the lawn.

You were swept away
by the faithless girls
who seemed to have stepped
off your wall to steal you.

I learned how
to lean on brick walls
and fences with the waiting boys
who told me that your promises
had been nothing but you
making down payments
on guilt.