i spend my days
pouring myself into the cups of others

only to find that
when it’s time for myself
to take a sip

all that’s left
in my cup
is the remainder of a girl
who gave too much

I woke up at 4 am
to the news of a mass shooting,
in Las Vegas.

It makes me sick,
that this is the kind of place
my kids will grow up in.

Now I just wonder,
has it always been this way?

When we were kids,
did our parents just cover our eyes,
and hide our face?

Or is all this ****,
this negative energy,

the beginning of an America

that's far more sinister?


It will be hard,
but we have to fix it.

I refuse to let my kids grow up
worried about ballistics.

your lips

drip

of honey

and so our kiss

is just as sweet

love looks a lot like you

I
don’t
know
when
my
petals
died,
but
I
do
know
that
I
survived

his cologne was intoxicating
and our relationship was toxic.

in every moment,
he was the joker

and I was Harley Quinn when he pushed me into the toxic pit.

He let me fall,
multiple times


and I didn’t even care

because he was mine

**** that cologne,

It was Armani.

I swear that **** made me blind.

Because when I was with him I couldn’t see,

and when I wasn’t

I couldn’t breathe.

he said he couldn’t breathe,
so they took his last breath

hashtags
do not bring back the dead.

they do not cause souls
to rise out of the ashes they lay to rest in.

hashtags

raise awareness for

loss
hurt
pain

and that ache in your chest you get
when you realize
that
nothing
is
the
same.

Because If im being honest,

making something a trending topic

is the only way

to make people

give
a
****.

I love to laugh with you

but laughing is not enough

to keep me sane

while I wait for you

to decide

if I’m worthy enough

for  a lifetime.

a dead flower
does not bloom

and now

neither does my love

for you.

know your worth.
know you’re worth it.
know you are worthy.

you stayed long enough to fill my lungs and left as quickly as an exhale

some days you love me

and some days you don’t.

some days I care,

and some days

I don’t.

it took me forever to realize
that the darkness
is fine

just not
all the time.

you ruined me

and just like the sun,

i’ll rise.

don’t bite the hand
that feeds you

or break the heart
that helps you

pfabg

the first time I was told
that 'I was pretty for a black girl' I let it slide.

But each time after that
those words started a fire in my mind.

I had always been confused when someone told me this,
you see,
is it a compliment or a insult, or is it just ****** up to me?

At first I think the white men who tell me this,
have no sour intentions,
but as time passes I realize
that my pigment is thirst quenching.

I realized then,
that being with a black female is a fetish of the worst kind,
because they always want to know,
'what that mouth do though?'.


The addition of the adjective 'black'
made me feel inadequate,
like the color of my skin wasn't just pigment,
but an interstate for loaded compliments and was nothing to celebrate.

I know now, that if any man think that I'm pretty, he'll tell me just that. I had to meet a lot of ***** to realize that mine was already fat.  


not every white man will want to experience the swirl,

and those who do, would never tell me

that I'm pretty for a black girl.

I wonder if these dudes understand that the way we act is based on them.

before

I could have recited the wrinkle lines
at the side of your eyes
when you smile
as if they were etched in my brain
like a song
I could not forget to sing

after

But now,
I know you
as well as I know myself

which is

hardly

at all.

I can’t wait to start loving myself again

loving you
is easier
than
loving
myself

sometimes I feel too easy to play.

is that even a thing?

is it possible to be so open minded, that these playboys just run up on you,

and leave you blindsided?  

it must be,

because for every girl like me,

there's about 10 playboys
running free.

And man,
are they good at the game

of keeping us women sane,

long enough, to watch them

walk

away.

I used to love you

so badly

that

if I were without you

I couldn’t breathe.

All the while,

I never realized

I was suffocating.

I want him to be mine
forever

not just at 3 am

my demons
go by the names
depression and anxiety,

and

for as long as I can remember,
I chose not to fight them

except today,

I discovered an angel
in my consciousness,
who goes by happy

and for the time being
my demons
do not
control me.

if I had known you looked this heavenly
I wouldn’t have thought twice before selling you my soul.

and so the moon weeps

for the millionth time

as it is the millionth night

far too few souls

are willing

to dance in her light

I present myself as easy,

a *****.

So others don't view me as a

*****,

a bore.

But which is worse?

Is it better to give it up
or never give in?

Will I ever be known as something besides my sin?

Do I continue saying yes,
but meaning no,
while these men
undress me with their eyes
and leave with my soul.

I have a bad reputation,

and I know how I got it.

I like having ***,

and you can bet your ***,

I flaunt it.

"Hey, what's up"

"Oh, you know, nothing much, just hanging with the boys before I have to leave to do something that I shouldn't be"

The I said "oh nice with a couple laughing emojis followed by, I'm about to shower"
and he hit me back with "can I see"

At that point I paused because I know where this leads.

Do I play with the fire that's building up inside of me?

Of course I do, I'm a young female with needs.

So I bust out my ******* and start feeling on my chest,
because it's been a long time since anyone's felt my chest.

He opens the snap video immediately and my heart starts racing when I see his name come up on the screen.

I open it and groan, it's a **** pic.

That's not going to do **** for me.

you play me

like I’m your PlayStation

except I’m not a game

my heart can’t be won.

I swear

I would take a bullet for a man,

who
wouldn't
even
try
to
stop
the
****
bullet
from
hitting
me


even though

she
was
aiming
at
him.

I think I like him,

but I hope that's where it ends

because I do not have any more pieces of my soul to give.

I honestly don’t think getting your *** beat as a kid and school shootings have any correlation. There are like a million and one external factors that affect children and young adults in their everyday life. Kids these days are exposed to things like riots, violence in their household, seeing mass shootings on television, and most importantly to me, is that a lot of kids struggle internally with depression, anxiety and addiction. Because of posts like this. A lot of adults have the “it worked for me” mentality.

But we didn’t grow up hoping that our friends don’t get shot in front of us. We didn’t grow up susceptible to the fear of ourselves. Our classmates. Our friends.

It has to change. Is what I’m trying to say. It’s a different time. These kids are different than us.

I’ve never used *******  
in my life,

but being loved by you

is what I imagine

the high feels like.

but you lied.

I wish I didn’t care for you,
but I do.

I wish my soul didn’t yearn for you,
like the sun yearns to see the moon.

I wish my eyes didn’t cry for you,
like the rain cries for June.

I wish I had never met you,
but I knew


what I was getting myself into.

the longing in your eyes

engulfs the deepest parts of my soul

in flames,

and soon,

the flames envelop us both

and we succumb to the flashes of orange, yellow and blue,

only to burn for an eternity

and that

is what you do to me.

I wish I knew myself

as well as I know you

a gun is pointed at my chest,
and instinctively,
I squeeze my eyes shut.

he pulls the trigger, and steps back
one bullet tears through my breast and exits from my back.


my tears fall,
expecting to feel pain,
expecting to see blood.

It never came.

For his bullets were just words,
insults and slurs.

Once I realized no damage was done, I thought to myself,

“He needs better ammunition”

'the p word.'

I was 18 when I realized I was a *****.
my body, the motel
open 24 hours a day,
allowing any male who looked at me in the slightest of ways
to come in and no I didn't charge by the hour,
it makes me kind of sour,
because none of them ever lasted that long.


My Legs remained wide open
until I was 20,
at that age I met a man,
who I thought loved me.
Yes, I THOUGHT he loved me, but really he liked my body.
But he did love somebody,
she just wasn't me.
A year into our relationship,
I find out he's going to be a daddy, only the baby's mom,
isn't me.

I'm 21 now, and my perspective on things have changed.

You see now I understand.

***** is power,
and it's a treasure that men need to find,
but before they can find it,
they have to deserve that ****.
Any man can tell you you're perfect,
but a real man is going to love you and your flaws,
****.