i walked.
away from his love.
he threw a grenade
of lust ahead of me.
i was filled with him
instantly.
looking for him
in the daytime with a flashlight.


i should have ran.

i am a man
who broke my rib.
in half
right after i said
i love her.

Can I touch your hair?
No.

Neglecting that I have no knowledge of
the sanitation of your hands
Nor am I in the mood for questions
I do not hold the answers to.

My hair speaks of a thousand stories
you will not appreciate.
My hair speaks for millions of women
Darkened by birth or sun.

So no, you can’t touch my hair.

My pillow is soaked in salt each night.
But when the sun is out, I;
throw up my laughter;
cut open my smile;
erase the red in my eyes.

At night, my pillow is soaked with salt.
I charge my happiness with sorrow.

I was walking with the birds
then I realised,
why don't we fly?

Date
a poet.

Speak
a language which has
twelve different words for love.

Read
each other’s skin like
Shakespeare’s last sonnet.

See
each other as an
Autumn leaf in summer.

Break
each other into a million pieces,
just so you have better poems to write.

Colour my eyes the brightest colour there is,
Paint my lips any colour you want,
Write poetry in place of my skin.
But don’t let anyone else read me.