I wanted to write a poem about flowers, so that's what I did.
It was short, expressed how I feel, and cut like glass.
I showed my father "Flowers" and he thought it was mediocre.
And I said, "No, "Mediocre" is the poem where I talk about dying,
and I'm trying to stay alive, so I wrote about flowers."

Flowers strangling soil plots with their roots, with their existence.
And to hurt something you love with your existence is a terrible feeling.

I love you
not because
you're good looking

I love you
not because
you're caring

I love you
not because
you dote on me

I love you
not because
your smiles are sweet

I love you
not in lust
of your crevice
or orifice
or skin

I love you
because
without you
I feel

incomplete within.

Companion
Keeping watch

Head in lap
Comforting

Puppy eyes
Changing minds

Bared teeth against
Danger or none  

Submissive
Loyal

The only company
I need. Hell,

Sometimes I feel like
I am my own
Dog

Who you are under
A cloudless sky,
Is uninteresting.

Show me a smile through
Drenched hair, wet to
Raindropped lips,

And I'll fall for you,
Knowing you won't care
Why now,

But carry on smiling at the
Rain. So
Carelessly

It begins
To doubt
Itself.

So I sit back in my freshly painted
Living room.

Neon yellow just didn't do it any  
More. That colour blind landlord

Might actually have cost me a
**** fine relationship.

I'm painting over few, ugly fights,
Intense passion, selfless love alike.

White. It's a Gandalf-like rebirth,
This coming back to myself.

I sit smiling in my freshly painted
Living room. Just some man

Waiting to be asked why he's
Grinning like that.

I've painted every wall of my home
The colour of canvas.

Fifteen year old Alanda got a boyfriend over the 4th of July weekend. "His name is Snow."
I marveled at the pride she had in saying his name. She might as well have had "Property of Snow" stamped across her forehead. And I knew if the opportunity presented itself she would.

"Awe, how cute. I was your age the last time I had a boyfriend. Wow that was almost 4 years ago."

"What!? But you're so pretty, and so nice!" She said it as if that was the recipe for being with someone. As if pretty and nice equals never having to say you're single.
I tried to explain that it's difficult finding a black man on this campus when black women outnumber the men. I tried to explain that many of these men know they are capable of many women. They know it's okay to love selfishly. The same way I know my worth.

"So you're gonna go on
blackpeoplemeet.com?"

"I wonder if a
watermelon would explode
in the camp fire?"

The watermelon
was placed in the fire. There
was no explosion

just some very warm
watermelon. No one died
Surprisingly.