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It felt like a storm hit me.
It took everything and left me empty.
We lived a life that drained us.
I cried everyday. He got quieter everyday.
We lived in denial.
I'm sure we wondered..
How can we make a home,
if we can't make home out of anything but ourselves?
It could have worked..
We've been with each other since high school.
Five years.
Been waking up next to each other for the past three years.
I know him like I know myself.
He knows me like he knows himself.
He is my best friend.
I always say in my heart every time I wake up next to him:
"I love & appreciate our friendship more than anything".
We're both broken..
We're busy building each other..
For ourselves individually and for us.
Still building a strong foundation..
Still growing.
Still learning to love unconditionally and unapologetic.
I believe, we are love.
But this letter is to tell you that..
It was out of love.
Everything done by us is out of love.
We're both searching for closure..
The only thing that consoles us is,
you have a better home now.
She was mine then she was not. And now all those men look at her hungry. And all I can do is just stand here and watch as she slowly slips away
She is a trophy to them all
My solace...
I can spend a lifetime in your arms,
crying, laughing, sleeping in your embrace.
I spend most of my days lost in your charms.

You feel like a summer night in December.
Long chats & slow strokes. You remember?
You taste like my favourite wine..
Coffee, grapes, cherries; oh so fine.

You feel like home.
You smell like home.
You taste like home.
You are my home.

The view from the top completes me.
I hear you breathing, you're grabbing; consume me.
The pounding reminds me of heaven,
a place I've never been to but I'm sure its like you Kevin.
I'm in love with a god, I'm floating.
I wrote this poem in my head while he was stroking.

You let me write while I was on a ride,
because you know this is all for you.
An adventure,  I'm in the sky.
I could go on forever about everything you do.

You feel like home.
You smell like home.
You taste like home.
You are my home.
The world
has given you
so much pain,
but yet
you still
find the strength
to make art out of it.
Forgive yourself
Perfect was never a word suited for you
Love yourself
Everything comes back to this
Love your sister
She has been picked apart, degraded, and has an internal war eating her from the inside out
Love your brother
He has a time stamp of deliverance to a life of incarceration, bullets released from an absence of sense, lack of educated, blind ambitious followers.
Raise your head
You are a Goddess created
with disarming beauty in mind.
Continue to place one foot in front of the other
You are meant and strongly designed for forward movement.
Take no steps back, do not bow down your head, do not close your mouth
In fear that judgment will fall
It will, but you must speak anyways.
Your voice is imperative
to the growth of lost girls who are unsure what real women are made of.
Your voice is imperative to the peaking of the minds of men unsure what to look for in a Queen, show him.
Your voice is imperative to the readjustment of the image of
Black Women with large voices
Black Women with high diction
Black Women with love language
Black Women with literary genius
Black Women filled with nothing less than the peace & love God has manifested within us.
Black Women
Black Women
Black Women
Who love Black men like double chocolate moist bliss
Who love White men like dark roast coffee filled with cream
Who love Latino men like Butterscotch candy dipped in chocolate
The list goes on
Black Women who love like we are bound to implode if we don't give the universe what it is that we need back.
Black Women
Your Mother
Black Women
Your Sister
Black Women
Your Friend
Black Women
Your Lover
Black Woman
Love Her.
She births poetry like a universe of constellations.
she parts her lips like the hips of the woman about to bring magic into this world, the labour of her poetry is never easy, never smooth, difficult to stomach, but the words she births from her belly carry life like breath, like the fruit of the earth.
There is a beautiful pain to them.


Other times,
Her poetry was like good ***,
She parted her lips like the legs of a woman about to begin the most primitive form of Love, giving as much as she could take. Sometimes she would ride the poetry, reverse cowgirling it to the ****** of her ecstasy and other times, it would ride her,
Leaving its essence inside her.


At one time,
She parted her lips like the mouth of a woman who is about to blow, your mind.
Never for her pleasure, it did nothing for her.
Her satisfaction lied solely in yours,
it was selfless, unselfish, an act of true altruism.
She broke for people, who loved people but did not love her.


But the first time,
She was the poetry, being birthed from the lips of the cradle of woman kind, the first time she was the magic, the life, taking her first breath, her first wisp of earth,
And it smelt like words that bleed, that change, that make love, that celebrate, that birth other words.
The first time she was the poetry, so the poetry became her.

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