never
trust
the wind
to be
straight
forward
with you.

it is as
fickle
as a
premature
heart.

I always
wonder
if she's
actually
doing
okay or
if
she's
just
saying
it like
people say
*i'm fine. i'm good.
i'm alright. and
i'm okay.

I like it when he
rests his head
on my shoulder
as if to let me know
that he is really
here with me
and not just another
sick memory
from what we were.

I like the way
his hair strands
tickle through
the sheers of my
shirt, breeze
sifting through
the vents of his lips,
cooling my warm skin.

He is *here.

Reggie just gets a little
too excited for my taste
and so on most days
when he sees that I've
responded cordially
to his invites to
come on over at
two a.m. because
no, no he's not
just a little bit wasted
he just wants to,
idk watch a movie
at two a.m. probably
in his bed so that we can
be chill. and to all this
when I say no, he just
keeps on asking
night after night after
night, I finally grow a pair
and tell him that I admire
his persistence but not
at two a.m. because all
he sounds like at this hour is
sloppy and I like to know
that whoever I choose to ****
will remember me and how I
got there by morning come.
But I do admire his persistence.

we didn't mind our mistakes
like everyone else did.
he spelled his name wrong,
always and I sometimes.
He forgot key letters
slung his slang between
my tongue, pierced his
bottom lip, tatted
Breaking Babylon
across his chest, buzzed
his black hair low so that
his olive colored scalp
shone through,
scissored his black jeans into
shorts, lectured me on
his truths and my truths
and how our privilege
is self-evident, whispered
to me on cold cold nights
about the coming of the
Zion train and that either
Lauryn Hill or Nneka
would be it's conductor,
grew his hair down to his
shoulder when I
buzzed mine low revealing
my tight curls
and cursed his blossom
pink lips and prodded his
piercing with my thick
bottom lip and waited
and waited and waited.
He liked my mistakes
and my curiosity and I
liked his confidence
in his abilities. He didn't
cover his mistakes, he
was sure of them.
He told me the Zion
train would come the
day that I decided
to ask and still I
couldn't resist asking,
is your heart breaking?
and now he's telling me
he's missed me and that
it's good to hear from me
and that he's missed my
blue velvet voice, and I
have to bite my tongue
and nibble my fingers
to stop myself from
asking him,
is your heart still breaking?
but I know that I've
missed him more than I
enjoyed breaking his heart.
He likes my curiosity
and the mistakes that
come along with them.

I'm sorry
you had
to leave.

I'm sorry
I have
to stay.

Your door cannot stop this flood.