My name is Taylor and I have a tooth that tucks behind one of my front teeth.

I say this as my first sentence because when I look at myself in the mirror and smile, that is the first thing I notice.

But a compliment I've heard more times than once, "You have a beautiful smile."

I  wonder how many things in life are like that...

Qualities or characteristics that people agonize over are the very things that others appreciate and admire.

I wrapped my arms around yours at the beach,
holding onto you.

Desperately trying to keep that moment alive,
for as long as possible.

Then I realized I wasn't even looking at the sunset,
I was looking at you.

You are my sunset.
Beautiful,
yet fleeting.

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

Clutching onto a relationship that shattered before my very eyes,
and I still became surprised,
that I bled from the splintering pieces.

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

You are weak, you don't know how to love. I know this to be true because you were able to sit across from me at the coffee shop after trying to steal a kiss from my lips and then tell me that you loved her. I laughed. If that's love then I want no part in it. I looked you up and down and asked myself what I saw in you for so long. I thought of our relationship and my head began to swirl with the messages you would send . . . to girls that weren't me. So I asked you. "When did I become not enough for you?" You blinked and glanced down, unable to meet my eyes. "Taylor, you became too much."

You're **** right I did. Any girl who has self-respect, ideas in her head and love for herself becomes too much for you. You like easy, I will no longer shrink myself to fit into the mold you lay out. Poor you. Poor her.

The marks
that cover
the Place
that used to be
your Home . . .

Are by far,
the scars
that affect me the most.

The waves crash
behind my eyes.
The wind howls
through my veins.
The rain pounds
on my heart.
But my lips mutter,
Don't worry
I'm fine.

I feel sorry for her. I truly do.

She thinks that it's only her, that I'm no longer a recurring thought in your head. How wrong she is. I know without a doubt in my mind, if I somehow appeared in your bedroom and you were guaranteed that she would never find out . . . well we both know what you'd pick. All of those I love you's and it's only you's that you tell her would be thrown away in exchange for our clothes thrown and scattered across the floor. I say this because it will never happen again, even though I'm sure you wouldn't mind if it did. The difference now is that I choose me and I no longer want you. I no longer WANT you. Why would I? Someone who is so easily able to kiss me and then immediately go home to someone else. But wait, I haven't gotten to the most horrific part yet. You are able to kiss her without the SLIGHTEST taste of regret or remorse on your lips.

How do I know that? Because you used to do that with me.

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.

She drenches herself in perfume,
in hopes of masking
the smoke that seeps from her lungs
and clings
to her clothes.

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.

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.

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.

I stayed.

Your words dripped honey.

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