What do you love about yourself*


I fell in love with her the way summer comes. Bringing an anticipated feeling of freedom, a release of pent up cold and frustration. Self love warmed my soul and abandoned my lonely. I am lucky to love her. Not for my vanity, but for our survival.

The hardest part of growing up is the disappointment. The rules of fairness get thrown out the window and it's up to you to pursue your interests. Each person becomes their own main priority. Self preservation. Your heart loses it value to others, your feelings no longer spared. Doing what is right mistaken with what feels right. My problem as of lately has been not doing what has felt right, but what's best for me, finding who's best for me.

Now, don't mistake me. He was a dream. My eyes glittered when I smiled. The first tender touch that scared me, but I was too proud to flinch. Laughter was endless, love ran lucratively. I guess you could say he was the beginning of my disappointment. No kiss could be as sweet.

The next was the captain of saving. He loved the skin I was in and taught me to do the same. He gave me affection, recognition, and a dilemma of delicacy. So sweet yet so twisted, wicked some may say. The sweet taste of sin. My disappointment grew with the seduction of satan.

Now I transition. The ending of a roller coaster. The disappointment began with the first drunken "I love you" I started to believe it myself. In actuality, I think I was just trying to fill the void that sweet kiss originally gave me. Nothing else could replace it. Not even his return. These short romances burn out quickly, only lasting months at a time, but experiencing the most significant of moments. Together, my loves have caused my heart to wither more and more. But it's those small  moments that make it all worth it. The moments that I knew somewhere in the midst of the mess they learned to love me, even if it wasn't forever. It happened, and in these moments disappointment grew because I knew they'd eventually end.

Submissiveness:
       give into man. silence yourself. his word is final. rush to his beck and call when he is angered. we are wrong. man is dominant, and woman is soft. if man is the bone, we are the gushy cartilage cushioning his fall. body dominated and composed of bone, but we are the organs that keep the body functioning. forever being transplanted, while our men are broken. submit.

Purity:
       save yourself for man. wait for him with all your white so you are not tainted. innocence upheld. it is all for him, only him. wait for him to take it all, whenever he desires. be pure.

Domesticity:
        the home calls our name. it is our calling. our knees bound to scrubbing, hands tied to kneading because our family needs us. we are to be the slaves of our homes just as we were to the white man. permanency of pressing collars that are not our own. domestic labor.

Piety:
        we come from the rib of adam. without the presence of man we, ourselves would not exist. for this reason, we worship. we worship to reiterate our purity, to maintain our sanity when others challenge our virtues of womanhood. the lord is our shepherd. we uphold our lord. besides our husbands, he is all that we shall want.

womanhood.

I don't too much buy into those social media romances.
Reminding us every Monday and Wednesday
Guess whose it is

Well
I don't too much buy into those social media romances
Because pictures always last longer
And all those emojis become cliche
Hinting at all this love that may or may not exist

See
I don't too much buy into those social media romances
Although I always have moments I wish I could bare to the world
But they're better off left with me

Scrolling through these photos
See I don't too much buy into those social media romances
Because I know things are not always as they seem.

helpless romantic
i am.
always anticipating my forever
infatuation
best described as
my sweaty palms
nail biting
fluttered heartbeat
excessive smiles

desire.

And each one reminds me of you.
I think you had me at hello.

Dear
Brown colored boy,
Mine
Shining in all your melanin filled armor I salute you.
The soldier you are as tall as the tree that bore the wood of the cross they burned on martins lawn.
You burn brighter than those flames
You ignite something in me that wants to melt into your melanin crossing legs and arms and becoming tangled in ligaments that look more like trees before they were torn apart to become those burning crosses.
Mine
Eye closed I imagine you holding a brown boy bore from my trees,
Laying him on your bare chest
Loving him because he's your own.
Not just mine anymore,
I'll look at you both in fear seeing those burning crosses become shining badges and sirens in the distance
Not just mine anymore

Black born
Black careless
Black die

Black boy
Black born
Black queer
Black love
Black die

Black born
Black careless
Black born
Black love
Black poor
Black die
Black cry
Black guilty
Black spring
Black forget
Black content
Black die
Repeat

Black girl
Black born
Black love
Black beat
Black die

Black born
Black girl
Black hair
Black lip
Black body
Black hate
Black die

Black born
White world
Black
Careless boy girl queer
Black
Self loathing
Black
Born
Die black

Black breathe
Black finally breathe

Repeat

So many poems you've inspired.
The best part of me.
Words taken for granted
Although I loved and wrote them willingly.
I always knew.

I kissed his forehead.
I never thought it'd be the last kiss we'd share, but it was.
As I sat in his lap admiring his face
trying to feel what made it so perfect to me,
I saw my love.
How I could sit in a freezing car, see our breaths, but feel so warm?because I was in his arms.
My hair in my face as I sung out a love song, and he smiled.
I was in love, and he smiled because he knew.
Both our eyes gave secret messages, both so intrigued with each others face noticing things we'd never noticed.
"I think you're beautiful," I said.
Because I did.
I kissed his forehead repeatedly.
So sweet was that moment, almost as beautiful as he.

Sister
By no relation except
The melanin in our skin
The plumpness of our lips
The cocoa of our eyes
The span of our hips


Sister
Except she didn't recognize me
So when I scolded her she didn't see the love in it
She was defensive
Mistook me for the enemy
Although I was trying to be her shield

It took a while
To separate her sister
From "*****"
A few interventions
For her eyes to open
For her mouth to pause from
words of venom to
listen to me explain
I am her sister by no relation.

Maybe deep down she'll always be that girl that wants what she can't fully have.

Loving people that'll never know how to love her, really love her.

And a few times she'll realize her worth but then she gets consumed in this futuristic land of fomo.

fear of missing out

That wide range between reality and what if.

Reality existing in hands other than her own.

What if being behind those closed doors that make reality worthwhile.

Fearful of abandoning reality because there's that small chance that what if comes through.

Fear of missing out.
On you.

At 8:30 this morning I was still hopeful. I still had a chance. It was possible. It was mine.

An hour later "We regret to inform you..."

An hour later it was over. the 4 months of waiting for absolutely nothing was over. "Excellent pool of candidates..."

I wondered if that made me less excellent. "highly competitive and qualified..."

Was I not qualified? I replayed my application over and over in my head and it sounded like it was mine.

"Oh, it was national" says my father.

Maybe I'm only qualified when it comes to Wisconsin, because the same thing happened to me at Regionals... Somewhere in America there is someone better equipped for your dream.

"We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors"
    Well, what if I have no luck left? What if I'm not excellent enough?

What if I'm not qualified enough?
What if I'm not deserving enough?

Then I look over my Journalism application. 120 spots.
120 qualified people out of a pool of who knows how many.
My morning made me feel unqualified as if there was a slim chance I could possibly obtain anything I truly wanted.

Then there's Beyonce and Jay-Z tickets everyone is raving about, but I'm in a stand still because I have **** I need to do. I have dreams that money actually can buy. So while everyone is raving about concert tickets,
I'm at a standstill wondering how in the hell will I afford to make my dreams come true when Beyonce could've made them happen 100 times over and then some...

Feeling unlucky, unwealthy, and under qualified

Then a friend tells me "cast your anxiety upon the lord"

Deep breath in.

Exhale. Something greater is coming my way.

Just be there

But he always is out trying to save the **** world
Maybe he forgets I need help sometimes too
Superman has these ******* lapses in judgment that make him think sometimes even though we're in separate states I'm perfectly fine not hearing from him. He doesn't seem to understand that's all I have. We got closest through these **** mobile phones always rushing to respond, FaceTime, call, and listen. Now it's like pulling teeth just trying to have a conversation worth having. I've forgotten what his voice sounds like, forgotten his ****** expressions. Constantly on edge because now when I see his name pops up I'm so agitated that he still hasn't noticed the problem. Just give me my superman.

You can't just jump into other equations expecting the most. Now I can't make the most of this because it wasn't expected. Women nag, yes. But beyond the nagging isn't nagging. It's love. It's unappreciated love. Nagging being the misconstrued cries for love, honesty, affection. So to be told I've changed hurts because I wasn't in love then. I couldn't nag because I didn't care.

Rolling over.
Pressing the home button  on my phone
Awaiting a screen telling me of those notifications I missed during my slumber.
The time is 7:19, and there are no notifications.
I only anticipated one, from you.
Although the number isn't even saved, it's committed to my memory, but left anonymous to those that may try to find out.
I left you notifications, two, but neither were returned.
Back to this again.
He always had these random days where he'd disappear from me without a reason, and when I'd ask he'd offer a half *** apology that I could've lived without.
I never wanted to live without him however.
Oddly enough, he always asked why.
He wondered what kept me around through the half *** apologies and You have done what you had to do to get what you want, and it's almost yours.notification-less screens I always was mocked by.
I guess my love, but who was I kidding.
Maybe it was fear of being alone, sexually frustrated, unwanted. But I was those things even with his notifications, his apologies.
My mind is always in this reassuring "it'll all get better soon, and it'll be just like summer again."
Summer is here though, and he's not.
So what keeps me around?
It's 9:24 and I couldn't tell you.
I can only tell the time on this notification-less screen, never notified of where I went wrong.

Then my phone rings at 11:21.
In those seven minutes and 21 seconds the cycle begins again.

Maybe my soulmate was reincarnated into my puppies.
Odd it may sound
But you try laying next to their body heat when you're cold and listen
to their soft breaths that turn to whistles
As their eyes remain closed and their mouths slightly open
You try not to pull them in a little closer and whisper that you love them forever.
Try ending a long day hating the world
Then you walk in your home to two ***** of fur that are the epitome of excited when they hear your voice and can barely stand still to kiss you hello. No one ever kisses me hello, only good bye.
They long for your every moment and live for your tenderness.
They're my best friends, always there.
The epitome of loyal and true.
I think my puppies are the prototype of my soulmate.

If we know what pain feels like why would we want another person to feel it?
Why would we be the cause of it?
I cried for you, you watched, you heard.
You saw my eyes light up in your prescence,
You saw the lights reflect in my tears.
How can you pull me in time and time again?
just to let me go
To treat me as an extra in your movie, to cross me out where I no longer fit.
How can you decide what's love if you don't know my heart?
Why would you bring me this far just to drop me off here?
We all just need someone to be there, and I was there, whenever, however you needed.
I was a friend.
I showed compassion.
I sacrificed just to bring you happiness, I showed compassion to your heart.
For some reason my feelings lost value. I lost that compassion friends usually give.
I lost you, but really you never wanted to be found.

I've always aspired to be a little bit of everything
Try everything once, give everyone a second chance
I dreamt of making mountains from milwaukee's molehills
And find prosperity and pleasure in the potholes

Ask not what your city can do for you but what you can do for your city
And I'll give my city a little bit of everything
Befriend a little bit of everyone

Some see my city as small, but it gives birth to such big dreams such high hopes
A state that has given birth to my state of creativity
A city that has certified that anything can happen
At any second

My city is a little bit of everything
Dangerous like the streets as the numbers get lower
Rambunctious like the fireworks at the lakefront on the 3rd of July
Still  like the suburbs of Wauwatosa all the way to Muskego
Freezing like Madison mid January
Scorching like the city during summertime

My city has made me as
Poetic as Maya Angelou
Brave as Martin Luther King
Intelligent as Thurgood Marshall
Soulful as that lady that sung the blues
**** as Dorothy Dandridge in her red dress
Delicate as Diana before she met the Wiz
Quiet as Celie
Sweet as Suga
Arrogant as Ali
Humble as Halle

Milwaukee, the city that made my dreams.

Your parents don't tell you what it feels like to be shot or stabbed when you're born.
They don't have to, because there isn't really any way to describe it. You can't know how it feels or describe the pain if you haven't felt it, lived it.
But why would they tell their precious baby boy or girl how that feels? Scaring them before they've actually lived. Triggering fear before they even know what fear is.
No, you can't describe how it feels to be stabbed. When it happens it just happens, it's so painful you can't even say you're in pain, because you're eyes are always so shocked that pain like that even exists. Your body goes numb at the sight of its own blood.
No one wants to be warned of that image, just like they don't want to listen when they're warned about falling in love.

After dark
While the world is sleeping
So no one could hear us.
Good girl by day
Rebel without a cause by night
Cuddling close to you,
The enemy
But enemy is friend by night.

I miss you sincerely every day. Every moment that passes that isn't spent just exchanging one word with you is spent reminiscing about the past. I guess you can say I'm lost. That's what happens when you live in the past right? Well, that's what I'm doing. Hopelessly remembering the first time you pulled me in by my red sweatshirt strings and I paused. Just staring at you so I could remember the one moment that would change me. Forever. That pause before I decided if I was ready for the mess I'd be getting myself into.

It just felt so **** good. I don't know if it was because it was spring or if it was because I had suffered from a break up 3 months prior, but I came alive again. I was living, laughing, always eager for the next time I'd see you and smile from ear to ear cornily. You'd laugh and I'd think it was the sexiest thing you could do. So we always laughed.

I'd tiptoe from your car to my door, trying not to wake my mom. And you'd.tiptoe from my door to your car to do the same. We were happy. Yes, the summer of 2012 was perfect. I grew to know I loved you, because you were my friend. A friend that listened to my problems, gave me advice, laughed at my jokes, and held me. You always held me, and all I wanted was to hold you down.

Here I go living in the past again. But those times changed me. The ache I felt was numerous: fall 2012; winter 2012; winter 2013; spring 2013; summer /2013, fall 2013; winter 2013. That's a lot huh? Well part was the jealousy of sharing, the other was your absence.

But this pain is my karma. When I say you changed me, I mean you still are changing me. It's like I run to pain as if I don't think I deserve happiness because it's always too good to be true. I've hurt people, and I've been hurt, and I thought all pain has a pay off. You taught me that. You always said we'd be good. Well we were, then I lost you.

As my first semester of college comes to a close, I'm lower than I started. As if I was running on this sugar high that college would purge you from my system. It didn't. It was like I was constantly trying to fill this void that was always there but the alcohol would always make more evident. Same with the ****. **** would cause me to over think to almost tears. Lead to me questioning what kind of person I am and what kind I want to be.

I've learned that you can't build happiness based on someone else's unhappiness. I also need to break the habit of covering my pain with new faces because it just leads to more confusion and messiness. My rebound turned to my romance. And what I felt can't easily be replaced. I feel low, to the point I look at myself and see a *****,used and left behind. Damaged goods. Repeatedly.

It's so hard to not exist in someone's world where they exist so much in yours no matter how long the absence. Yes, in that moment that you pulled me in by my red sweatshirt strings you changed me. Forever.

Roads that eventually intersect after miles of traveling
Little black girls
From different worlds but somehow became a part of the others'

Always laughing at the world for not know how deep the river flows and where the roads connect
Praising the others melanin and defiant hair as more than just dead skin cells
You cheered for me harder than I did myself

I cried when I heard the news that my friend wasn't mine anymore and that those little black girls were growing up and apart. Laughs echoed in my mind and pushed tears out.

This is melanin and love and you can't fake this.
Mixing shades of ancestry and bloodlines and pigments that stick to the core.
Somewhere someone peeked in a black woman's ear, straight through to her mind,
Saw a village dancing in her head!
Fires lit, drummers surrounding, same steps synchronized because they were born like this
Nothing but magic how
all the time these drums sounded off in her head
so of course her walk holds steady as a drum
Of course her hips swing with the beat as she steps with the villagers.
Her life becomes syncopated with rhythm
Dancing in all her movements
Never missing a beat

Her name was Tina and she loved the idea of true love. She was young and beautiful, so she was told, with ambitions that were limitless and smiles that beamed of achievement. Perfection wasn't the goal, but she almost appeared to be because when he squinted his eyes there was nothing he could find except how in love she was.

Her kisses were passionate, her words as well and overall she was sweet. There was never a moment you had to question where her mind was. Her emotions read in her words and her voice, in the way her eyes gleamed when she held back a tear.

She was preparing for a life of living and loved being young. She danced with the music, she sang all the notes as if they were her own. Tina was loved by many, and she had loved a few, but there was only one Tina was crazy about.

His words gave her butterflies, his kisses kept her going. For months she was her happiest, constantly in a rush to be back to this one. Careless of those that wanted her or loved him because he was all hers and she was all his.

This young girl so full of dreams, couldn't stop falling. Swirling down a staircase of heartache for someone that slowly revoked the hand he extended. She chased the hand and kept pulling him back, going insane constantly saying "it'll go back, it'll go back" back to the way it was it wouldn't. He'd revisit her in her dreams but that was it. Their realities would never meet. A goal she'd never achieve.
her name was Tina, as sweet as can be.

Hero

Who's gonna save me when I finish saving the world? They must forget im just a 17 year old girl, with strong tolerance, but is broken inside. A whole world to protect, but no one to listen to my fears at night. I can try to be the superwoman and put all of me on the line. But I'm scared of knowing when I need someone everyone runs and hides. Scared to face my demons because they have no idea of my struggles. A hug is all I need, just someone to pull me out of this big huddle with all these people tearing me apart limb by limb. Daddy's little girl, but I never even met a true man. A man to protect me, to love me, to hold me when I cry. I inherited all my moms burdens so my backs broken no one to carry this weight of this unbearable pain single black women face everyday.

Forty-two percent.
Forty-two percent of us.
Black women, never married.
42% of us laying alone in our beds
On our sides with no one gazing back at us
42% of us staring at our phones wondering if that ******* is our last chance at love
Almost half of our Nubian glow fading
Almost half of us never finding that legitimate other half
42% of us scared of being lonely
What are the ages of the women that make up this 42 percent?
Is there a cut off age to finding eternal love and happiness?
42% of us...they said 42% never did, but they never said that 42% of us never would.

"The black woman is the most unloved creature to walk the earth."

Our men do not value us.
They test our willpower, breaking us repeatedly
Claiming our self worth as weakness when the burden of his love becomes too strenuous

We do not know what it is like to be loved because pain neglect and disrespect come at a more rapid pace
The torture is endured in hopes of an evolving love
Some day...

I am ignored
My anger no matter the volume
Is never loud of enough for a man

Makes me nauseous just thinking about it.
There's something captivating in your kiss and touch.
Something so worthwhile that even after you hurt me I still daydream of you, of that dark skin, the way you move.
I try to love myself enough to pursue what's best for me, who's best.
But then there's you.
That way you have with making me fall with little to no effort, there's something kryptic in you.
I wish it was easy. I wish I could find someone that makes my thighs tremble and loves me half as much as I do you.
That person that I crave, and craves me.
Who's breath defines me. Who's blood easily could run through my veins.
Then there's you...
One touch and my pursual of happiness is led astray.

Dear Rosie

I wonder, what kind of black woman are  you?
Because as we discussed various -isms, you refuted your womanism, you refuted racism, you refuted sexism. You are "Rosie"

Dear Rosie
I want to know where you come from. Who taught you to tear down women that look like you, that came from a black woman's womb just as you did. Where did you learn to silence us in that confused mind of yours where you said our opinions irritate you and are worthless to your education?

Dearest Rosie
Tell me how the oppressed became the oppressor. Because as I look at your dark chocolate skin I am curious what you see when you look in the mirror. A reflection of privileged whiteness? You say oppression does not matter. You asks for facts. Well, statistics show us that people that look like you are dying whether you acknowledge your blackness or not. Women like you are being silenced and underrepresented in the public sphere regardless if you take it for face value. Women like us have lost sons to officers, husbands to cells, brothers to jails.

Dear Rosie
Wake the **** up. Each time you slice our tongues from the black reality that black women may not matter as much as they do in this safe space, each time you preach of your humanist kumbaya resolution that separates us from race gender and sexuality, each time you say our opinions do not matter, they win. The system wins. Because they'll use some token like you to represent our mass majority and say "She agrees with us so all black people do too." I refuse to be represented by a peer that denounces my womanism, my feminism, my black nationalism because it's not white enough for her (black) skin.
Not inclusive enough to a white population that has excluded people like me for centuries. It is not my duty to make some ******* feel comfortable with my blackness ,to relieve them of guilt when they've perpetuated guilt on me because of my blackness.

Dear Rosie.
Don't let them win.

The stars say that when an Aries and Sagittarius meet it's likely to feel like love at first sight.

We met.

Turn on the television at your own risk.
We're dying.
People like us are dying and we are the killers.
Three shootings before 10pm.
18 year old woman found dead on the sidewalk
Six shootings took place in Milwaukee last night
The stories just start to blend together.
And after a while they all begin to end the same:
*No one is in custody at this time, there are no suspects

Hug a black boy while you still can.

Before he's ripped from your arms,
Torn from your womb
Thrown into a cell
Beaten in an alley
Hung from a tree
Shot down in the street

Hold him and pray for his safety
Pray for his return from the gas station
From school
From work
From life

I held a two year old and as he tried to squirm away I thought of how much love I had for someone in such short time
How this body holds so much value to me and so many others
He matters, he's only two but he matters just as much as any other human being.
His black skin beams along with his smile and I couldn't imagine life without this black boy.

So why can't our government see that?
Why can't they look at our black boys and love them unconditionally?
Protect them unconditionally?

Our black boys matter.
Hug them while you still can.

So fascinating black women's crowns are.
For so long we couldn't accept them,
Well if Jesus can wear a crown of thorns
you sure as hell can wear those curls, those naps,
that glory, relaxed or not.
Your crown, your choice.

"Yas natural." No.

So why is it my hair is automatically deemed less beautiful when asked if I am "down with the creamy crack" or "all natural"?
My crown loses its glisten when another black women tears me down for not bearing my natural thorns.
And yes I've always considered going back every 8 or so weeks when my curly new thorns start sprouting back in.

"You should try this product. Great for natural hair." But...

It's just that, if I am not my hair
why must it matter so much what stage it is in?
No I am not rejecting my blackness, no appropriation needed
my curls still rejoice, even if i didn't wake up that way
contrary to popular belief
I do not like my hair straight.
"Your hair gets so big. Are you natural?" No.

You call society racist for being so fascinated by our hair.
Racist for asking us to limit our hairs
heights and widths to accommodate their dress codes
Racist to change ourselves

"I love your hair. Are you natural?" No.
Well it is prejudice to deem me insecure, unnatural, and "bad hair"
because of how I "choose" to wear my crown.
Poor assumption that just because my hair is often curly and is thick that I must in fact be natural.
Hair is beautiful is various forms.

Please let me relax with my relaxed crown.

He knew she'd never leave.
Mistakes become true testaments of love supposedly, women tend to accept a man's wrongs as a way to show their loyalty.
Sticking through thick and thin, while their men
skip and skim through options.
I was an option.
Somedays I was proud to be his safe haven, his lover, most of all his friend.
I was in love with the comfort and knowing he'd would always be there.
Other days I was lonely. When hours past and there was no sign of him I assumed I had ran my course.
That she had returned, but we both knew she had never left or planned on leaving.
I knew I was in love when the pain became more painful.
As I spent each holiday alone, my reflection mocked me.
I questioned which I'd rather be a secret or a mockery.
I still don't know personally.
The women, or "girls" with the relationships we envy  I've noticed seem to rather be made mockeries.
You see a strong, confident, beautiful, intelligent, and independent lady become weak, cowardly, dependent, clingy, oblivious, insecure, and naive.
The denial is their safe haven.
Well he was mine.
I became all of the above, except naive.
I always knew.
He always knew I'd leave, and deep down I knew it too.

I am a **** good woman.

I may not be perfect, but I am. Does that confuse you? I love the way my smile shines when I see my reflection, chip and all. I enjoy feeling my hair blow with wind, or wet upon my back. I can stand **** for hours, gazing at every curve, or lack there of, that has graced my silhouette with its presence over the past 19 years and 7 months. Content.

I am not curvaceous nor too thin. I stand before myself. Just a body that did not ask for it's formation when it was sent from heaven, still holding hips that will bear children, breast that will feed villages, hands to uplift the child.
I am a **** good woman.
I come from a womb of the strongest woman I know. I bleed blood from her veins, bared skin that she's given me. I am molded from great women. Their features arrange themselves on my face, their vocabulary runs rapid across my tongue, memories madly through my mind.
I am a **** good woman
I have loved fiercely with compassion. It is without vanity I have compromised myself to love.
I am a **** good woman.*
How dare you think I am not enough?
I came from your rib! I am a part of you.
I have walked miles for mankind, cried for those before us, hurt from wounds you thought were long healed.
Still, I rise.
Impatient to be loved by a man worthy of my greatness.
A man worthy of the long walks of lonesome, sight seeing of chauvinists and fools gold we mistook as lovers.
However
With or without man I am woman.
A **** good one at that.

If only I could create a masterpiece of a man.
I'm stuck with small remnants of what I want from the past, but I want them all and more.
I'd make him perfect.
We'd be best friends like me and D
He'd be overprotective like E
My same like J
Oh we'd be the happiest in town
Always stealing kisses that you never wanted to end
Holding hands because that's what they're meant for
Ending the day laying in each others arms
He'd please me in every way
Knowing and owning my body like J
But devouring like D
Just to ensure I was fulfilled in all ways
We'd share honesty, monogamy, trust,
We'd share our bodies
Our hearts would be one
Yes, he'd be my masterpiece.
He'd be only for me. Mine.
I'd make him beautiful.

I was in Mississpi for a minute,
maybe even hell.
That's how hot it was.
Drenched in our own sweat
to the point the droplets of our own condensation
Dripped heavily down our temples.
To crack a window would've released my heavy gasping
To open a door would've exposed the sweet seduction that was us becoming one in the driver's seat.
Making a car rock like a boat while my ocean was being sailed trying to make it to the lighthouse,
That sweet lighthouse that all sailors would aim to get to during the storms, and this storm was man made. My man made it.
Soaked in our sweat it was as if hell temporarily had sprinklers.
Most people don't make it out of hell alive or try to escape as soon as possible
Well we stayed until dusk turned to dawn, and when the windows finally cracked,
our Mississippi River was released in steam and
became cold on our clothes.
As my unbuckled sandal hit the pavement
I stumbled back into Wisconsin from Mississippi.

I have a craving.
Just for that chocolate boy that left me back home.
I can't seem to let him leave my mind
because when I close my eyes he runs rapidly
through it, me just reminiscing.
Four times I've tried to find someone that is born with the
knowledge of my body's combination,
but they come up short, in more than just one
I didn't appreciate the relief he gave, until now.
Sitting here craving those hands, those lips,
that smile
Ugh
it's frustrating
a blessing and a curse
experiencing you, the best of you,
now i'm in withdrawal
just craving...

There's this myth that it takes half the time you spent loving someone to let them go. (Six)

Half the time to forget what you keep remembering. (the ***)

Subtracting yourself from the equation to see what's left. (a mess)

Twice the one night stands to fill the void. (quick fix)

Just six months to accept what you'll never feel again. (his lips)

There's a myth to letting go.

Six months to never remember. (never forget)

How do I stop these headaches...
The pounding in the center as if my brain is being shaken out of place.
The irritation that makes me pray to keep my blood pressure down because hypertension runs in my genetics.

Constantly reacting, each error becomes a catalyst to a headache that makes me clench my teeth, claw my seat, wrinkle my brows. Instantaneously this frustration reoccurs.

My mother and I alternate the burden. These headaches run through both our veins. Genetically annoyed. Venting to each other of how we don't think our bodies can handle anymore. Our bodies dying as our frustration lives happily and stress free. Just piling her burdens on us. Taking advantage of our need to get things done, advantage of our go getter mentalities.

Aspirin after aspirin. They disappear so fast these days.

The sickest happiness.
Sick because most don't know the feeling,
But an undoubtable bliss.
Comfortable while being comforted
Undetachable
Irreplaceable
The highest level of platonic
Those people, those are the ones worth keeping.
Not because they make you happy, but because together is when you are at your best.
friendship is the dosage of humility and sanity. An influence that doesn't change you, but helps you maintain you.

It's all about transitions.
That ongoing change that you always want to run towards
but when the going gets tough you
run back to reminiscing.

He's beautiful.
I watched him look out the window for me
Not knowing I was right behind him
I was nervous to be right beside him
But he wanted me there
Maybe forever
He scooped me from the ground for no reason
Besides that he missed me
And every time I laughed to replace my blushing
My heart would melt just because of how cute his baby face was when he'd poke those succulent lips out and drop his head into my chest and put his arms around me just to say
He missed me even if it was only 6 days

I watched him reject any and all plans with his friends as they watched him cuddle me
And I could only laugh because for the first time I was the reason someone wasn't going anywhere
For the first time I could confidently say
He's not going anywhere
He's fine right here with me

Hours passed and with each minute my attraction grew because he respected my prescience
Ignoring all those calls, neglecting literally hundreds of texts
I wanted him because he snored on my chest with his arm around my stomach so I couldn't move
While I felt all the moves with his twitches that nightmares bring
I wanted him because when his friend says "she's about to leave" he responded "she ain't going no where"
And I wasn't, but I did want to feel him, show him how much I appreciated the feeling of being wanted

I got so comfortable I fell asleep, and I awoke to the sight of his beauty as he stepped out the shower and it was the best way to wake up
Built like a statue I said
So finely shaped in all departments
So strong that he controlled my movements
A masterpiece, he's beautiful.

I knew the situation at hand.
So it's against the rules to care or cry.
I'm expected to be immune.

I broke the rules, and fell.
Experiencing the awkward moments that is
Falling alone.
Failing by confessing my love.
Meanwhile you changed the meaning of the word.

Lust became the enemy.
Emotions and erotica never intertwine,
At least for me.

"Maybe we got too deep into this thing we're doing." And on that note he leaves.

My insatiable taste for affection makes it hard to find perfection in a single person.
You could blatantly express the fact that you'd give me your last just for a moment to see me smile,
but I'd probably consider that too vulnerable for a first date.
I enjoy to watch a relationship progress,
but I usually take flight if the speed isn't exactly my pace.
I complain constantly of my lonesome,
but my heart isn't available.
That's the biggest mistake.
I get physical loneliness misconstrued with emotional loneliness.
I laugh and shrug off the idea that so many want a place in my heart,
but I never really come to terms with the fact that I hold a part of people's hearts that I never pay a second thought to most days.
And I make all these excuses as to why I'm physically single,
but my heart rests with you, waiting.
Denial may hide it, but I know no other chapter may begin
-- no matter what perks and propositions are promised --
without ending the current I have with you, whatever is left of it at least.
  You caught me off guard and promised me nothing,
but have been everything at just my pace.
More than a love interest, my confidant, my friend. my insatiable love.

I feel strong.
In this moment I feel strong.
I was weak this morning, I didn't want to process all that had changed.
But now I am coming to terms with the idea of not having you.
I am settling with the concept of loving those that know the value of my heart and carry that value with them daily.

I know I loved you fiercely.
Maybe you knew too.
But in this moment I am strong and refuse to give you another part of me.
I will not leave room for reconciliation.

This heartbreak was different.
I am different.
Now I am strong enough to not chase you out of fear of losing.
If it is meant we'll findeachother again.
If not I will be strong and trust that this is what God had planned.

Inhale strength, confidence, and assurance
Exhale pain, weakness, and doubt

I will be strong.

Sun-kissed skin kissed so many times.
Each kiss softer than the last, creating a million different shades. .
No one exactly like the last. Each worth caressing.
Hair worth grasping, curls that preservere.
Hair as thick as us. Curves worth remembering.
Dark chocolate eyes that melt your heart to stone.
Glances worth noticing.
Flavored sweetly to the core.
Lips as full as our hearts. Kisses worth feeling.
A heart that loves like no other, a mind stronger than barriers we've broken.
Brown all over. Beautiful all the way through.