Brief Interviews on First Love


M.K.
I was a lonely soul, and she was too.
Stuck tongue tied against the world at large
But between us there was no need to
Wait or wander in the whirlpool of words.
They flung out complete and sprung into
Conversations that lasted the entire night
That broke the barriers we had so clung to.
Every time we talked an anxiety appeared
Because I wasn’t ready for it to end.

We were the same in that we could string words
That revealed our greenest pastures to each other.
It felt good, so right, to feel so heard
But what we meant to the other we couldn’t let out.
So earnestly entwined but hopelessly curled
In a ball of what ifs and maybe laters,
We drifted apart and when to reunion we turned
The whirlpool was now barren, and we were tongue tied again.
But this time I was ready for it to end.

V.K.
He wasn’t who I thought he was. He was
My world but he looked back at me to see
A void. Imagine the one you love, a love
So vast like idolatry, see you
As nothing. I was a priestess who lit
A prayer each night and sang sermons
To an emptiness that eventually
Creeped inside and turned
The candles to ash and
The songs to slurs. Because
He wasn’t who I thought he was. He was
My first love but I wasn’t his. I wasn’t
His. And the word stuck on my tongue
I now sing, in silence, is bittersweet.

N.P.
For the first I was young and quite obsessed
With the tangled vines that love could plant,
But vines are cut quite easily,
And not meant to be climbed, but at twelve I
Didn’t know any better. I was just obsessed
With love, the idea of it, and that bred
Questions crushed when at fifteen
We met and kissed but just like vines
Weren’t meant to be climbed some questions
Shouldn’t be replied. But I was young.

By the second I had had my fill
Of love, or what I thought it meant, but
I found him, or we found each other,
Like how it’s meant to be, and I learned
I was ignorant, but eager.
And things panned out how it’s believed
They’re meant to be. Stuck strong we planned
For a life, five years, without questions,
But this dull life
Cuts sharp like a knife and once again
The tendrils I had clung to snapped.
Though they may recover,
Though they may not,
His is the only vine that I wish do.

S.K.
It’s hard to speak
Of love without
The mind that’s shaped
By many things
That have nothing
To do with love.
For this mind is
Malleable
And changed with each
Portrayal of love
Through books and films
That breed desire
That might’ve changed
Again based on
Just what I’d read
And what I’d seen
And that left me confused about love.

I’m not saying they should be training manuals
But some warnings, real shit, not sweet, fake stuff
Could lead to less heartbreak. But anyway:

The books and films
They bred desire.
I thought I knew
Who I wanted
To love. Tall and
Handsome boys.
This didn’t end well.
What’d you expect?
Then I met one
Not quite handsome
But nice and caring.
It didn’t work out.
Though I miss him
He knew just how
To cheer me up.
And I miss him.
Oh, what do I know about love?

S.A.
It was all image. My rebel ass
Wanted a bad boy and he was it.
My family hated him and I
Guess that’s why I was attached to him.
It was all image. My feelings were strong
But attachments can happen to anyone
Or anything if you just talk
Long enough or spend enough time.
Like currently I’m
Attached to my
Old scooter and don’t want a new one yet.
But I’ll get attached to
The new one soon enough
And forget the old one.
Yep.
Though honestly you never forget about it.
But yeah, it doesn’t matter anymore.

A.T.G.
I’ve never been someone who’s “fallen” in love
But I’ve said “I love you” and that’s been enough
Because to me that means I’m into us
And with you at this moment, and it’s you I trust.

The first time I felt this way I was
Thirteen and I really saw someone
In a different light than everyone else.
Though the feeling wasn’t mutual
(I never tried to probe or know enough)
It’s okay because all I knew was
I really like this person and that’s all.

You know I’ve never been outspoken
About my feelings because I know
They’re tied to several other relations
That stem connections, and also
Because I don’t believe liking someone
Is a process of give and take. That’s that.
I tried my best not to express it. Not to
Make a big deal out of it and keep
It in because at thirteen I had
Priorities other than to be mesmerized.

Now at twenty-four, I’m still the same.
I haven’t changed much and still believe
In the same notions and don’t expect
Retaliations to my feelings. Because
Like I said liking someone to me
Isn’t about just give and take.

A.S.
When it comes to love my lot in life
It seems is to be unrequited.
When I was 13 what I believed to be
Love appeared in the form of this boy
Who, when he did the littlest of things, would set
My heart on fire, the way he shed
His pencil to sketch, the way he smiled
Marking the dimple on his cute, Mongolian face.
To talk to him, be around him, would make me blush
For no reason, and if I was asked to sit
Beside him it would have blessed my day.
I would never leave a chance to peek at him.

However, when word spread about my feelings
He ran away, calling me names, and I
Became the cause of laughter in his group.
Once when I passed by him on a hallway his friends
Laughed at me and the word he used then
I now scoff at, but I was young, I didn’t know
Just how it demeaned me, degraded my personality.
Thinking of those days now makes me shudder.
Most of the boys began to bully me and soon
Enough even my own friends blamed me for it.

My first love reminds me of getting bullied.

L.P.
My first love was sweet. I was a kid
In middle school and I met this girl
From my church on a lock in where we stayed
All night. She and I were put in games
On the same team and how we would joke of it,
Creating a language all our own.
That’s how we became close.

Soon we exchanged numbers. Looked across
The service from each other and made faces.
Just a couple of cute thirteen-year-olds.
We would go for walks, skip rocks, and just talk
About the world. We were so innocent.

We had so many ideas of who we wanted to be.
Thirteen and pure. Now looking back, I see
Being thirteen is hard. There’s so much going on
Emotionally, hormonally but we had
A spot in each other where the world made sense.

It made me glad and still does because
We remained friends.

M.B.
First love is:
Nerve wracking but full. The kind of full
That makes you drunk. You fall into
The most restless of sleep. You fall into
A dream endlessly only to be jolted awake
Because you realize it’s not perfect.
It never was
Despite initial thoughts
And soon enough even the sleep, the dream,
Loses all its luster like a sunless garden
Losing its green.
You worry and it sinks
Into your bones and takes your energy away.

That’s when you know it’s time to stop.


P.A.
To be honest, my first love was boring.
Unlike what I’d heard. There was no thrill,
No butterflies pulling me towards him.

But he would do the silliest of things,
Like take me to spice challenges though he couldn’t bear them
Just for the heck of seeing me have fun.

He would be there for me at my worst moments.
Just a simple hug would make me feel safe. He was
My haven and has been so ever since.

Even when he’s not present the thought of him
Makes me feel protected, like a guardian angel
And he hasn’t left me ever since.

My first love taught me love is giving without keeping records,
And being there for your lover no matter the circumstances.

My first love has been all about learning, falling, getting up,
Correcting each other, seeing through every wall built up,
Holding one to one another and continuing the journey
Despite all the challenges we face.

I’d take that over butterflies any day.

J.D.
It was slow and burning.
An aching need.
For something: uncertainty and pain.

Uncertainty: he was a boy like any other.
I told him at lunch break outside the theater
Sitting on the cold faux marble floors.

Pain: he said I deserved better.
So awkward about it. Said he was broken inside.
Didn’t want anything to do with love.

Later he told me he was uncomfortable I was bi
Because his last girlfriend cheated on him with a girl.

D.G.
Catered completely to my needs, I made a man
He could never live up to. I wasn’t in love
With him but the him in my head and so
My first love was my first fantasy.

Sadly, that’s the most intense I’ve felt
So far. Maybe something to do
With age? I suppose. It’s in the teens
We give ourselves so completely to our feelings,
Right?

Or at least I did.




Poetry by Sameen The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 4 times
Written on 2026-10-02 at 05:44

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