censored

Please tell me something,
and do not lie.
Is something fading
between you and I ?

I've noticed changes
in the recent past
and waited patiently,
hoping it wouldn't last.

I give everything
I can give you,
but what's given back
seems long overdue.

You say nothing is wrong
and you are just fine,
acting as if
the problem is mine.

Something is different,
not like it was before.
I'm doing my best,
trying to restore

The way we showed love
to one another
without crowding you
or trying to smother.

I just need to know
if one thing is true.
Do you still love me
as much as you used to?

I can’t breath.
Your holding a pillow over my face,
and call it love.
I am not quite sure when you and me
became we, and us and ours.
You talk about forever
and I listen, halfheartedly.
While watching your lips move,
I plan ways of escaping.
You were too much
and yet, still not enough.
After awhile I questioned
why I was holding on so tight.
I held on until my fingers ached
and calluses formed,
and it no longer felt right.
I was choking on the silence
of all the words I wasn’t saying.
Suffocating.
Slowly my heart became a tomb
and you, the mourner.
I am truly and deeply sorry for your loss.

I have a home in my own heart when I think of you.
For the first time,
I have a home I hold inside me.
Because of loving you, I am a little bit home
Wherever I go.

Dying love in a gilded cage,
Imprisoned by my pent up rage.
You never loved me, but neither did I,
The last gift you gave was the gift of goodbye.

My brain is a factory,
producing every toxic part of me.
******* until my hand gets lazy,
fantasizing about Lexi Belle
and being Martin Scorsese.

My blood is a vacuum,
alone in a crowded room;
my white blood cells like to
travel to my *****,
so I can someday infect
designer uterine walls.

Locked and loaded,
my heart exploded.
The tissue and issues
attracted crocodiles
that swam from the mall,
for miles and miles.

Store-bought baby, my body isn't ready,
to be stripped down to the bone,
and sold to teenage radios,
that'll broadcast my American moans.

Caucasian nightmare:
my skin is not fair.
Peel enough off with chemicals,
until I decide there's no more,
and hide the layers in bathroom stalls,
located in the bleach of Baltimore.

You’ve grown tired
Of seeing people’s backs,
Slowly getting small
As they walk away from you.

You see yourself
No longer running,
Staying still
Until the next one comes
And until they leave.
You see yourself
In the middle of nowhere,
Enduring the biting cold,
Enveloped in darkness.
But, still,
You see yourself.

Realize that there is light,
As long as you don’t
lose yourself. Stay still
until one comes
and hold your hand
and not let go.