Her legs are open wide,
however
her heart is closed shut.

He’s asleep.
Tonight, I held him tighter
and kissed him longer.

I wish my kisses were enough.
Were enough to shield him.
To protect him.

From the people that can’t get past his beautiful chocolate skin - long enough to see how wonderfully incredible he is.

He is a man that will always give a helping hand without complaint.

He is a man that never fails to brighten my day.

He is a man with a beautiful mind and heart.

He is a man that is thoughtful.
When I first moved into my apartment, he watched me jumble with my keys trying to find the right one.
So,
he went to the store and bought key covers so I knew which key went to which door.

Who thinks to do that?

Him.

He is a man that is patient, loving and chooses to see the good.

He is a man that is hard-working.

He is a man that will be an incredible father to our children someday.



He is so much more than just a black man.

It’s time the world sees that too.

I stayed.

Your words dripped honey.

Even though,
your actions dragged like knives across my skin.

I'm angry at myself,
for feeling angry.
Against my better judgment, I looked at her page.
It's your two year anniversary.
Congratulations.
Congratulations for ******* me while you were dating her.
She wrote that you told her, "I fell in love with you from the moment I met you."
So you are in love with her, but you had the nerve to make love to me.

I no longer want you, I no longer crave you.
I loathe you.

For four years,
I loathe that you slept with other girls, and I continued to crawl back to you.

Maybe thats what makes me angry,
you are doing the exact same thing you did to me,
to her.
And I played a part in it.

The only difference is, she doesn't know.
That you're unfaithful.
That you lie.

But I did, and I stayed.
For four years,
because your words dripped honey,
even though your actions dragged like knives across my skin.

In a moment,
I saw anger flash behind your eyes,
and you grabbed me.
As if to shake all of the feelings you were feeling
into my being.
And as quickly as you let your fingers sink into my skin,
you stopped.
Because you knew.
You knew that if you continued,
your father would have been reborn.
Into your fingertips.
And you have always sworn that you would never become your father.

Say something. Say something!
I look down at my fingers.
Oops...
I accidentally picked them — to the point of bleeding.
They are all probably wondering
why I am so quiet.
Stop being so quiet.
Say something. Say something!
Instead,
I take a sip of my drink
and wait for the words to come.

Why do I constantly want you to want me so that I want myself?