My cousin introduced us.
He says you have to try everything
at least once,
But not the expensive ones.

She never told me who her parents were.
I never got to meet her family,
but one day we crossed paths
with her white crumbling cousin
who told all about the fiery reality of her past.
Her father - hallow.
Her mother - unfiltered.

No wonder why people would always stare
as we made our way down the sidewalk.
Heads held high,
smiles drawn,
fingers braided.
Millions of glares
with gavels in full swing.

The day my grandfather passed away,
she was the first to comfort me.
She pressed her lips to mine
and told me that everything was going to be alright.
"You'll see him again one day"
She said, “I promise, I will take you there.”

You should have seen the way she looked at me.
How she would stare into the back of my throat,
claw her way into my chest,
and set up home in my lungs.
She was always there for me.

Now I know
we’ve only known each other for a few years,
but I can trace her past back to my great grandfather’s porch.
I can see her future
in the carvings she’s left inside of me.
She tells me it’s a work of art.
Well,
it does not feel like one.

-a.m.