HIS
EVERTYHING
RIGHT

Wanting you has left my soul suffocating...
Never realizing the length I would go to please you.. guilty by submission..becoming submissive inspite of me not belonging to you..pleasing you always came first..but for you its H.E.R...you say you prefer natural hair...I grew locs in spite of my free spirit that leads me to do a big chop annually...because to me that's me removing all the bad reminders...but for you I made that scarfice..inspite of you wanting H.E.R .....blemished skin...scars of heartache and pain...proclaiming you prefer naturally flawed..over  this mac bottle that makes me feel completely irresistible because unlike other things it hides scars of what made me who I am...but for you I allow this bottle to go untampered with..unlike my heart always being tampered with...but H.E.R...is constantly on your mind.. never taking a moment to realize me putting you first...your only thoughts is of ....H.E.R..how to please and cater to H.E.R every desire...and need... "she has potential to make you happy"...when it's me that constantly strive to make you happy...consistantly taking you in deep until my muscles become weak...I can't compete...because even though I get on my knees and **** you deep...I'm still not H.E.R...and just because I made you ***** in one of your many random places...in fear of pro life with M.E because its H.E.R you desire..I've allowed my soul to weep...because by next week I'll be back in your sheets... giving you all of me...like a piece of prime meat..enough of me to fill what makes you weakkk..never understanding you want me mentally but her psychically...but she doesn't want you psychically...so you imagine H.e.r while doing M.e?  I'm done with never being enough... but always too much for you...let her learn or care to know that you like a person that listens..you're a closed book..that pays attention to vivid detail..you do from the heart with happiness as a form of payment...liking your women of somewhat of a variety but not too much of a variety because if you lived in a world of H.E.R.'s you would be completely satisfied because her outer is what sets your soul on fire...allowing yourself to linger on what little she's gives because she's da bomb in everyway..bomb enough for you to hurt the feelings of someone that would've given you the world..but because my **** ain't "perky" and I'm not a size 8 my validation..means nothing....being super thick is more superficial..I'm self reliant..thick in all the right places..constantly loving you in all the wrong places....I'm not H.E.R I am M.E....My Everything on repeat...repent at my feet because my heart has always been on repeat...you have made me weak...we haven't spoken in weeks...
Nikki.the.goddess

It’s nice to know you’re still reading my poems,
even if you can’t look me in the face.

adopt a demon tonight
and if you're a writer
she'll help you become a
great one even
It is worth exposing yourself
to her
You won't call her a demon,
of course. That term is offensive
You'll refer to her as The Muse,
your muse
and she will visit you when the
time is right
and the time will be right
when you start doing your thing
You'll see.

Outside of a bar in a North Carolina strip mall, stone cold sober because I am scared to use my fake, I feel drunk as you sit next to me. Perhaps I am. I'd have to be to think maybe, maybe, maybe, when I know, I know, I know.

Your hand brushes against mine, and you're saying the most beautiful words I've ever heard, and the fire in my heart spreads up, down, left, right. But it cannot spread just four inches outside of my body. It cannot set you on fire, too.

We listen to each other and hear two very different things. You are birdsong outside of my window that I am eager to hear; I am traffic outside of your window you've learned to tune out at bedtime.  

If there are nine million bicycles in Beijing, then Beijing is my insides and bicycles are your name, because it is written on my insides nine million times. But there are no bicycles on Antarctica. There is no use for them there, just as there's no use for my name to be perched on a straight girl's ribs.

You tell me my weird hobby of listening to French rap music is awesome, that it's so cool that I'm teaching myself three languages, and that you want to be me when you grow up - I laugh, because you're several years older than me. Selfishly I catch every droplet of your praise.  I ruminate on it for hours, for days. It means more to me than it should.

My name sounds like a compliment from your mouth. I try not to say yours too often, so you don't grow tired of me being around. If I can't set your insides on fire, I want you to want to be my friend. Even that feels like I ask for too much.

In every scene, I see you in the foreground of the narrative. For me, it would be on honor to be one of your background characters. Narratives are richer with them anyway.

I look at you and you are the Harry Potter movie marathon I wait months for. For you, I am the 2 am infomercial you fell asleep to. But I don't mind half as much as I should. Even white noise has its place in someone's life.