Let me ask the question that I've wondered for what seems like centuries.
Let me know.
What exactly is the ******* point?
What drives you to turn emotional "love"
Into physical "love"?
I have been constantly dissatisfied.
Endlessly unamused.
Forever jaded.
To the point that I can't imagine the notion of this ******* being even minutely beautiful.
Or even worthy of being the median of which love is concocted.
**** it.
I don't want to understand.

there are different types of crying
each of us has at least one or two
and from my point of view
the most used is the one without tears,
when the soul cries loud and everything in the body hurts.
and there is another one that goes hand in hand with rain
you're between droplets, crying and nobody can see the tears.

He nearly ripped my throat out just to prove his point.
The bleeding thumbs of an angry boy can be tasted on my tongue at 11 pm.
His desire lies in between his toes and his malice in between his teeth.
He screams to a God he'll never praise and kisses a father he'll never love.
The sound of the air blowing between my teeth, however, shut him the **** up.
Shhh.
I have a project for you.
It involves you losing your victimizing nature.
Dropping your entitlement.
Opening your baby browns.
And listening.
Your sweat will never taste sweet until you love yourself like you loved her.
Your legs will stumble on their insecurities until you dance in your impurities.
Your vengeance is futile and will only make you avoided.
I can scream too.
You want to scream?
Scream with me.
But don't say I didn't help you.
Don't say I didn't try.
Don't act like the blisters and welts on your tan skin are from my fire.
You want blood?
I got plenty.
I'll jump rope with your esophagus.
Play dress up in your epidermis.
Understand your motives and thoughts better than Lauryn Hill.
But you can't assume anymore.
You can't believe that I fall to my knees because you make me weak.
That's not the case.
I don't need you like you need me.
Oh, please.

Let's hear it.
Let's embrace the ugly.
I mean, considering it ugly is an opinion.
I'm sorry, I just breathe really loud when I get excited.
I feel like I'm waiting for something.
Something I've anticipated for.
Prayed for.
Cried for.
I think God is smiling at me.
Whether it's out of pride or mockery, I do not know.
But I am loving it.
I can feel my happiness behind my tongue.
I can smell my eagerness.
Some say it's a weakness.
But I am loving it.
At around 4 am, I heard thunder clap.
Ha, God has such a funny laugh.
I told Him I was excited for whatever he had in tow.
It started to rain.
Tears of joy.
I remained thankful even though nothing came.
I asked God for a sign that would indicate my luckiness.
I didn't see a thing.
So I kneeled down and said thank you.

Yes, baby.
Oh, baby.
No, baby.
Do it, baby.
Yes baby.

HEY!
Who wants to know a secret?
Like, a really good secret
Juicier than a ripe nectarine
Heavier than a one-thousand pound weight
Scarier than your stepdad on Easter Sunday
Funnier than Kevin Hart in Madison Square Garden
Who wants to know a secret?
Deeper than the ******* Pacific Ocean?
Softer than your nephew's skin
Lovelier than your lover's touch?
Wetter than your 3 am tears?
I have a secret.
It's better than the best chocolate you've ever tasted
Slower than the traffic in Manhattan
Sadder than summertime
Sexier than the girl of your dreams.
Let me tell you a secret.
-zaba