i want to know somebody

know every detail of their life events
i want to blow the candles on their first birthday
lick the stamp on the first letter they sent

i want to share and be shared intimately

from my brown skin into my core
i want to wrap around his member and see his eyes ask mine for more

i want to nearly bleed to death

over how much I’m able to give
over how much I might withstand if it meant my love would live

because i think people are meant to be shared with one another, tied in an infinitesimal amount of ways; tumbling as one.

every person on this earth
has got a certain fear
spiders incite panic,
public speaking invokes tears

mine isn't too uncommon,
but only some women can relate
it's a special kind of fear
to a special kind of hate

it wasn't whispered in my ear
it's just something that i know
it's been ingrained since my beginning,
a part of how society flows

you see, i'm afraid of a guy.
or rather, his rejection
afraid i'm not enough
because i'm darker in complexion

did you know his hands are white?

that's why around him, my skin burns
instead of reciting numbers and letters,
what if it's racism that he learned?

i was taught to admire passions, looks, and intellectual minds
if only to darker women,
love could prove to be more kind

im 18 in year '18 but it feels like '63
hiding feelings from a whitey cause ****** is defined as me

i am constantly chasing love
or rather, the question of love

love is a question because it's never been something tangible to me
i've never held it in my hands
i was first approached with the question after an innocent 6 year old asked her father why mom didn't live with him anymore

"we just don't love each other like we did then" he'd say.
even then, she knew "love" had to be something important.

maybe i was pre destined to chase love, since i matured without loving myself
exposed to the harsh environment that is society, i wore no scarf or coat to fight the elements of self hatred

with every milestone, every minute mark, my heart grew bigger in anticipation
would love answer like the colorful pixels of a television set, dancing on my retinas?
or will it engage in a quiet, sneaky approach, like a tiger stalking its prey?

at first, hearing its reply sounded so satisfying
but the more i try to expedite love's response, the quieter it seems to become
i have many years to live, but no longer do i want to engage in this one sided conversation.
a question,
love will remain

sometimes when we talk it's like my mind begins to race
your words begin to circle me
in a poetic embrace

i feel your passions seep under my skin and in my veins
feel your memories begin to root within my brain

then i respond, and i begin to tell all of my thoughts
told you things about myself,
i know i talked a lot

it's just that when we speak
i cannot help but share my pains
our stories are weaved with different themes
yet the handwriting's the same

sometimes when we talk,
it's like we start a mystical ride
you take my hand within your prose
and up, we start to fly

cliche? mmm, perhaps
but on the way, you show me stars
and every single one has got a touch of who you are

within my every reply,
it's like our words begin to dance
they fit so well together,
like a lyrical romance

looking into your eyes while you speak is what I'll miss
they're filled with scattered dreams
upon a few, i'd make a wish

make a wish you'd feel those fluttery things i feel inside
make a wish that when we talked,
you'd share this natural high

make a wish that i could venture deeper in your mind
and on my exploration, thoughts of me is what I'd find

i know it's safe to say i like you more than you like me
cause i don't think that when we speak, you feel this sort of glee

admittedly, it hurts, because i'll miss your cute remarks,
your odd expressions, your funny poems, your comments from the heart

but maybe down the road, a familiar figure is who i'll see
perhaps that guy will wave hello to sit and talk with me

poke
squeeze
pinch

of the parts of me i despise

imagine
fantasize
wish

of a different vessel than which i am trapped in

remembering
recounting
recalling

of a day where i was taught to accept parts of my body i cannot change

understanding
realizing
knowing

although such a day failed to come,
the sun brings me another to try again

dear future partner,
i am sorry to inform you that you can’t run your fingers through my hair
it isn’t silky or smooth like a tall white girl in a brightly colored Garnier commercial

but try running through the fields of mind,
approach gently at each thought that greets you
touch sweetly, for every dream you unfold is delicate, easily molded by those who refuse to slow down for me
glide carefully as you discover unwanted spots in my brain, left by other travelers who I mistakenly allowed to begin a journey within me

you can’t run your fingers through my hair,
but you can traverse freely through my memories as they roll off of my tongue and onto yours
feel the wind rush past my ears as my lips take you back through time and space until your own mind begins to latch onto memories of mine.
a child on a swing. kicking back her legs and greeting the sky with a smile, unknowing and unfearing of all obstacles ahead of her.

you can’t run your fingers through my hair without pulling back a weird mixture of coconut oil, leave in conditioner, and whatever product is still there before wash day

but run your hands carefully on my skin
listen to the sounds of my scars as they whisper stories unable to escape my throat
appreciate the too soft or too rough, too loose or too tough parts of my body as they welcome you to me

and when it seems as if there’s no running left, come close.
lay your head on my chest; feel me rise and fall
as I try to my fingers through you.