my fantasizes
haven't even been this remotely close,
to what i laid my eyes on.
she was perfect,
just amazing,
absolutely stunning,
with the perfect shade of skin tone,
and perfect with touch.
a goddess like ***,
with a soul so well developed
and pure
that her soul instantly created a chain reaction with mine
simply breathtaking,
what a piece of "strong black woman"
with gracefulness and individuality
and a "Erykah Badu" style.

Time is a funny thing you know;
Its hands accomplish many things,
All by just moving around in a circle.
Time is a weird thing you know,
The same hands that softened my heart
The same hands which turned it back to stone
Will be the same hands which heal me
Time is a sad thing you know,
Even though we have 24 hours/60 minutes/ 60 seconds
You still didn’t value it enough,
To even give me the time of day
(k.l)

What do you think I deserve?
After treating you like the king you were
Or least the king you made me feel you were…
What does the girl you made your queen deserve?
Or the queen at least you made me to be in your eyes…
Don’t you think I would deserve a response; a ‘hello’ at least?
Some indication to me that you still care, that im not erased from your picture
The picture that you meticulously painted to me day by day
Changing my view, but not clouding my judgement.
As a king, you do not hold me in high regards to not even report to me
But still, you seem perfectly capable of doing so.
But why me? Why your queen?
The queen I always knew I was, but the queen I thought someone finally saw…
Your Queen.

Determination, diligence
Is what I saw
Running away is what I reciprocated with.
All the right things is what you did
Making the coldness in my chest melt.
Happiness, Affection
Is what I felt
With you by my side, and in my heart.
The heart that you thawed, and made your home.
I tried to make this home the best I could
But even the sun sets in paradise.
You came home fewer, my heart grew colder.
Every day was an agony
Reaching out was what I did.
But I lacked acknowledgement.
To this day, it is a mystery
As to why you up’ed and left my heart.
The heart you thawed and made your home.
(k.l.)

i could delete your pictures,
i could block you.
i could sit and write a million "i hate you's",
but it doesn't change how i feel about you.

i could delete your number,
i could force my your name down my throat whenever i feel it coming up,
and if it does come up i could puke on it
and flush it like a bad memory.
will this change how i feel?
no.

i could find every song that speaks about the hatred of a love that has gone wrong,
and belt it out at the top of my lungs.
i could burn every poem i ever wrote about you,
and swear to never write another one.
but not even this would change the way i feel about you.

you can check me a thousand years later
and you'll see that my love for you will never run dry.
(h.s)

if you need to talk,
call the scrap yard.
ask for the girl
who sifts through debris
and finds spare parts
that can try to replace
your failing ones.

I will answer
to whistling teapots
and accumulated newspapers
if you don’t have time to call;
drinking gasoline so I don’t fall asleep,
and oil for stability.

if the things I find
cannot help,
I will relinquish my function
so I don’t fail you too—
the sum of my parts
could never make a whole
as lovely as yours, anyway.

Kiss me on the forehead, it comforts
the restless nomad in me.
I am one who lives nowhere,
neither in you nor this world.
I exist within myself;
                             the beauty of myself.

I knew this wouldn’t be different and yet
I chose to know without wanting to
                                                     know I know,
and that type of logic is the exact
logic,
that disappoints me day
                                        after day.

You walk away from me
                                          slowly,
and I beg of you to run.
I am in this for the long haul
but I can’t sprint for ****,
you know that much to be true.

I’ve crossed miles upon miles
of deserts for  
                    you,
Deserts as barren as my heart
without
            you.
Don't you see, how much
you feature in me?

© Sia Jane