1

Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
Preseason. Johnny Manziel, running.
The nurse is a signal caller, too.
She flicks the wrist like Rodgers,
puts spin on it like Manning.
Once a rookie, now a seasoned vet.

2

Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
Network glitch? John Gruden, talking.
Anxiety lurks in the tall grass
still licking its paws. My head's out the game.
I've become an easy meal.

3

Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
If I had another John he'd go right here.
I miss my mother, and how she smiles
like my illness only increases my value,
puts gold in my veins instead of chemo.
Rex throws his clipboard, I lose my appetite.

4

Monday Night Football On A Thursday.
No more John's. Get over it.
Game's almost over. My head fresh from
the toilet, pieces of everything falling out
of me. Broken. Stumbling. At this moment,
football is enough.

Decisions are kind of a funny concept. Some people believe that everything happens for a reason. Others believe that each decision has a domino effect on other parts of life. Have you heard of the butterfly effect? This idea believes that every decision leads to various outcomes, and that there are multiple paths a person can take. I like to agree with this statement.

Decisions are what make a person. At least, they're what show a person's character...

I observe ordinary character on a regular basis. I work at a liquor store in a town of roughly three-thousand people. I know the regulars by name, and I can tell who's had a rough day or who is excited for the weekend by what they purchase. I know when Barb is furious at her husband because she buys two liters of *** and the smokes he hates. I can tell when Dave is on good terms with his fiance because he skips the Fireball and heads straight for his 24-pack. Bob... is really just Bob. He comes in and buys a liter of coke, a liter of Bacardi, and a pack of Marlboro reds every day at 4:30 on the dot. Each of these regular's decisions display part of their character. Many of their purchases can be influenced by their emotions... but what part of life isn't?

You're probably wondering when I'm going to get to my point. That'll be a couple hundred words further. You of all people know how great I am at ranting.

How is my minimum-wage job connected to decisions and character? That's a good question. Each decision leads to a specific outcome. These decisions are based on the character of a customer. Their character is displayed in their decisions at my dead-end job. Anyway, back to your decisions.

Decision Making
Relationships are basically a hurdle of decisions. Deciding how to sleep together. Deciding the best way to kiss despite the height difference. Deciding what to say when meeting the in-laws. Deciding when to say "I love you". It's decision after decision after decision.

I like to think that each decision can lead to various outcomes. For example, if I would have never lost my virginity to a one-night-stand and cried about it to the girl living across from me, I would have never met you. So, if I waited to take off my clothes or if I cried about it to my roommate instead, this last year would have gone a lot differently.

I'm beginning to work my way to your decisions. First, let me state that you were the most indecisive person I have ever met. You were passive. You were lukewarm. You were flat. You were only certain on one thing: your admiration for college basketball.

I have to admit that you were decisive on your verdict to be with me... for a time. I guess I have to give you a little credit. You weren't all bad. There was a lot of good in you. But, there was a lot of rottenness underneath your tall, dark, and handsome physique.

The Beginning of the End
You decided to avoid a decision from the very beginning. Sure, it was me that you wanted. I mean, I was great. I still am. I may be biased, but I don't care. You wanted me... but you didn't want the price-tag I came with.

What did I tell you from the beginning? Let me refresh your memory. We were sitting on a lime green couch in the lobby of our college. It was close to midnight and I was exhausted but didn't want to be without you. I told you that I expected you to:

1. Be honest.
2. Be faithful.
3. Pursue me.
4. Make me a priority.

I didn't ask for much. I was searching for... Oh, I don't know, a relationship that sounded pretty standard in my terms. I wanted something serious, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't looking for fun or liveliness. These requests were normal, in my mind.

I then asked you if you would choose me over your mother. I knew you were close to her... and I hadn't met her yet. Also, for some reason, I already had a feeling that she despised the thought of me, and the idea of her little man bringing a girl home... (God forbid she have a brain on her head).

I didn't want to be tantalizing. I believe I am gentle in nature. But, if everything worked out, I wished to be the number one woman in your life... not your mother. I restated my question after a few beats and you continued to ponder the thought. After a few seconds you told me, "No, probably not. But I might change. I want you." That should have stopped me in my tracks.

But it didn't. We were together for about a year since that night. We kept things quiet for a few months before becoming "official" or whatever. Your decision or avoidance should have sent me running... and it did... to you.

I think part of myself knew that I deserved better. Also, part of myself believed that there was beauty in maltreatment. But, I saw potential in you. You were my best friend.

You were... I was in love with you.

I was willing to fight for us. I was willing to fight for you. I was willing to battle it out... and I saw myself coming out victorious, like the warrior I truly am... but, you were a battle lost from the very beginning.

Whatever "Fighting for Me" Looked like to You
Things got worse when confusion arose between your mother and I. She thought I was sleeping with you (when I wasn't). There was a lot of yelling... most of it was in Spanish. I was scared. I was petrified. She believed I was ******* up her perfect son. This put us on unsteady ground.

This was also the first time I saw you cry.

It was a battle between what she wanted and what I wanted. She wanted me out of the picture. I wanted you to stand up for me, and to stand up for us.

You chose me. This would be the one and only time I came out as the number one priority. I believe this was because you were over three hundred miles away from her piercing eyes and thin lips. It was easy to put us first when she wasn't there to "knock some sense" into her son.

Your mother didn't speak to you for months. She was furious. She was angry. Her dislike toward me grew with every passing day.

Letting the Bruises Heal
For the next six months, things seemed to get better. We fought but made up. We talked of the future while understanding that we were still young. We grew as lovers and as friends. We made promises and kept them.

But, the semester was ending. The snow was gone and the grass was nowhere near green. Three months of separation were just around the corner and I knew of the trials to come. I also knew that if we could make it through the summer, that we could last. That is, if we could make it with your bitter mother by your side.

Seperation Leads To...
Three months of fifteen minute phone calls every once in a while dragged on. I was patient with you. We were both working our tails off. I was taking summer classes. You spent any and all of your extra time off working for your dad or training for soccer preseason. Still, I was patient.

We saw each other twice during the summer. Those days were some of my happiest within this past year. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder. Those first moments of seeing you were like revelations. All of the time away made sense. The eight hour drive to see you made sense. We made sense.

It was during your stay at my house when I realized I didn't want to be with anyone else. Ever. It was the first time you told me you were in love with me. I felt the same. We didn't just love one another, we were in love.

It was during my stay at your house, a few months later, when I realized things were heading south.

Temptation
We fought. We fought a lot during the month before I drove to Wisconsin. It was almost daily. Somehow we made up... somehow. You were stressed and I was anxious. I was anxious and afraid.

But, I came down to see you, nonetheless. Most moments, I believed we were healed. We could conquer anything. Others... I knew your mind was elsewhere.

Although, when we said goodbye, I believed we were true. You made me a promise I was sure you would keep. Our goodbye was the second time I would see you cry.

Looking back, I think I know why. You were tempted. You were more than tempted.

Decisions and Indecisiveness
The day after I got back home, you said you "wanted to take your promise back".

Two days after that, you left home to go to a camp I knew nothing about. You "couldn't take your phone" but I knew better than that.

We went an entire week without talking. And I knew something was wrong. I had never felt so sick in my life.

You eventually returned home from camp. But, it took you two days to respond to me. Once you finally called me, you told me you "couldn't do this right now". Then you hung up. That's when I knew it was over.

I was furious. I was jealous. You were tagged in pictures on social media with a few girls in particular.

1. Phones were allowed.
2. You were awfully close to one girl.
3. You were lying through your teeth.

We met up on campus a few days later. I had a list of questions that just about vanished into thin air when I saw you. You were ruggedly handsome... And I was still in love with you.

You greeted me with a hug. I just about cried.

You explained to me that your parents gave you an ultimatum. It was me or college. Stay with me, and college was out of the funds for you. Break things off with me, and college would be paid for. You told me you chose college.

You explained how you "needed to do this for yourself".

You also told me you didn't love me anymore.

You decided against me.

The Entire Truth
I was confused. I was heartbroken. Nothing made sense. It was like you gave me a puzzle that was missing more than half of the pieces. I spent the next month trying put the thing together. I came up with one single solution... but I didn't want to believe it.

My hypothesis rang true through a friend. I believed you cheated on me. Yes, I was sure your parents pulled their big levers; but I believed you were hiding information from me. You were.

I can't go into the details because I don't know all of them. In fact, I probably never will. I've ran through every scenario a thousand times in my head, and I still come up short.

All I know are your decisions. Your decisions show your character. Your character is flawed. Your decisions broke a large part of me. I am still attempting to put myself back together.

Out of all of your indecision, out of months of tug-of-war, you were so decisive on leaving. You were set on cheating. If anything, I wish I could ask you why.

Why did I always seem to come up short? Why wasn't I good enough for you? Why did you choose money, college, and your family over me? Why did you choose her over me?

So many questions I will never get closure on.

Deciding to Decide
I have moved on... for the most part. There are still days (like today) when I miss you more than anything. But, I am stronger. I am certain that I was good enough for you, even if you couldn't see it. I am also certain that you were the first person I was truly meant to be with.

Remember when I mentioned the butterfly effect? I know that different decisions lead to various outcomes. We have the choice. We decide where our life goes (or we choose indecision).

Your decisions led to a different life. A life without me.

And I think, as of right now, I'm okay with that.

I wish I had more time,
maybe slow the seconds on a dime,
double the minutes it’s already daytime,
add few hours to this joint show knowing it’s our prime time.

I have watched her thru pilot season,
grew a bonding even from preseason,
fast forward to now, and grew she did,
walk with me slowly god forbid,
as you are my everything in this unending void.

I thought I wasn’t good enough,
all my instructions and advise I thought were too tough,
yet she knew my acting tough was a bluff.

Amidst all the chatter my mind thinks,
as I wanted to say how I felt,
she wouldn’t let me complete and said jinx.
our walk together was complete,
my mind was ready to binge watch her grow again.

One.
I used to write about my ex a lot. *** so hot I was surprised when our lust ran out of steam.
Then you came, *** could not compare to the explosives of two fire signs detonating, but it was good enough to warm me up, to work up a sweat, to quench my thirst, make me think maybe not the best but **** I’ve had worse. Interestingly the compatibility and probability of a Capricorn man and Leo woman working was extremely low but I was determined to make this work if anything just as a big ******* to astrology. Always the pyromaniac, I was relieved and excited to feel flames again. To feel those sparks to get my ink pen flowing hot lava across the page, but why does it have to derive from pain? My love, I was happy to love you. Oblige you.
Keep you. Bask you in the depths of my love and hoped you came out clean. Every time I love,
I love a little deeper, a little bit more womanly, a little bit more openly, flowing - my love I did not mean to drown you. I should have let you.

Two.
April 28th. I wasn’t going to go on that first date with you. It was personally too late into the night for my liking but it fit into your schedule perfectly. I should have taken this as a sign that I would be doing most of the sacrifices and compromises. You wanted to impress me so you agreed to play pool, a game you would lose and afterwards we sat in your car and had a fire conversation. As you poured a little of yourself onto me, I could not help but notice the street lights illuminate your brown sugar face and the stars ***** dance at the vibrations of your laughter. The night was chilly but in the car our dialogue kept me warm and cozy. For a date that I wasn’t about to show up for, I didn’t want to leave. I just wanted to commemorate the anniversary of our first date with you. To celebrate the love that you said singed for me, for it to be a testament that we made it through this year barely unscathed. Most of the scars were mine.

Three.
The Bluetooth speaker that you got me for my birthday.The yellow and black checkered Vans that I wore to the Eagles and Steelers preseason game, though I have deleted the pictures with you off of Instagram. It was during that game when you got mad at me for jokingly agreeing with the girl sitting beside you that the Steelers rookie QB was hot, that I saw the honeymoon phase smear right off of your face. Who you pretended to be and who I tried to compromise myself to become began to smolder underneath the heat of the August sun, our incompatibilities started to ring volumes; we didn’t have *** enough, we argued too much and it never resulted with our clothes off and our bodies touching, just me driving home angrily and sleeping alone, this camp fire blazed brightly and blew out quickly. Every time we tried to reignite it, it would blow out just as fast, frustratingly, it is my fault for ignoring such a weak connection.

Four.
The iPad that you got me for Christmas. After you opened up the gifts that I bought you, real round and heavy tears ran down your face and caressed my shoulder. We embraced so tightly, so lovingly, it was the most intimate and honest moment we shared. In that moment I knew that you never was really loved, really cared for by many women so I was determined to be that woman for you. I was so dead set on not breaking your heart like your ex girlfriend that I paid no regard to what was happening to mine. Over time, I could empathize why your ex girlfriend cheated on you. She decided on the things that she wasn’t going to let you take, she knew when to let that go, when to release if it was only for a quick relief, a guilty reprieve, so yeah maybe it’s you and has always been you.


Five.
The Nintendo Switch that you got me for Valentines Day. Maybe I can give it back if that was supposed to be some type of foreshadowing for how you would switch up on me, the painting with a twist painting turned facing the corner in my bedroom and I’m not sure why I haven’t thrown it out yet. It pains me to admit but sometimes I was wrong but I tried so hard to do everything right from the bottom of my heart. The South Park shirt that I took one morning from your apartment, it no longer smells like the cologne I gifted to you after being washed too many times. Every so often I’ll pull it from my drawer, a gentle reminder that we had some good moments, that we let our love kindle like incense and let the aroma fill the room, but those good times just could not outweigh the bad.

Six.  
The first time that I admitted that I loved you was after you texted me on a Monday morning that you didn’t think we were meant to be, and I knew that because remember we didn’t have *** enough, we argued too much, but for some reason we both refused to stop wasting matches to relight this love that we knew was going to fan out eventually. Call that insanity or pyromania and **** aren’t Mondays insufferable enough? Haven’t I suffered through enough?
That first time those words escaped my mouth, it was like extinguishing a living room already ravaged by flames and all that you have enough time to grab is the dog and your favorite photo, and I meant it genuinely I loved you for the broken man that you was and for the man you had potential to be but just not for me. It was putting ointment on an obvious gaping wound. It healed nothing, just prolonged the suffering.

Seven.  
Eventually I reached my boiling point, reached the point when I needed to let this dimly lit blaze fizzle out. I know that love isn’t always easy but it didn’t have to be this difficult or unhealthy. Not to exaggerate but I cried for three days straight. I had to mourn you and my fantasies, release your toxins and my own from my body, consume harsh realities and bitter truths, face the ways you triggered me, ask myself the seething question of if I knew I was the bomb, why wasn’t I being treated like it? Why didn’t I subconsciously think that I deserved better than you gave me and what I allowed and accepted? The last time, that lust masquerading as love, I let that wildfire destroy everything in its wake, including me. Even though I was dosed in disappointment and heart ache, I was determined to not let this time be like the past. This body, this heart, and this spirit is not a toxic landfill, or a burial ground, or Ground Zero. I am always a Phoenix rising anew, always the Leo shining, always a firefly. One day I woke up and realized it didn’t hurt as much, my heart still beat and pumped out red and orange currents of ferocious love.

Eight.
My biggest regret was holding on to this for far too long. Letting go took strength that I didn’t know I had, this fiasco taught me so much about myself and about love. I am (too) patient, compassionate, understanding and I am sometimes wrong but I always try to do everything with love. But I am not and will not be anyone’s emotional punching bag just so I can brag that I have a man who buys me gifts or to say that I have a boo for the holidays. Society has conditioned black women to think that we have to suffer in order to be deserving of love, that if you can’t stand the heat then you should stay out of those same kitchens where our black mothers used to drag a chair close to the stove, press that hot comb to our ***** curls, mad that we’re sweating halfway before she’s finished, wincing because she’s burned us but she’ll say that’s just the grease, so yeah maybe us black girls have had our attitudes brewing and been predisposed to the flames but we will not accept your torturing.

Nine.
If you would’ve asked me then what was the color of love, I would’ve said it was you and your cherry water ice colored lips leaving stains on the collars of my shirts that I have yet to wash, it’s us in our Sunday’s best as we went to your church and I prayed with you and for you. It’s the Polo shirt still neatly folded in the brown paper bag hanging on my closet door, I never got the opportunity to give it to you and now I have no idea if I should give it away, return it, or save it for the next man who my heart burns intensely for. It’s that flutter my heart felt once your name came across my screen; the second to last text you sent said that you felt our vibe was off and you have never been more right, I was so over wasting energy trying feed that spark. The last text that you sent you said that you suppose you missed me, and I mean duh of course you would, of course you should. I used to write about my ex a lot, have *** so hot, confuse love with everything it wasn’t, chase men who reminded me of my father until I was scorned and scarred. Now I get to write about you too, and I just needed new material, something to get me charged up, something to get hot ink scalding across the page until I felt the heat on my fingers and the paper disintegrates to ash. But make no mistake, this poem is not all about pain.

Ten.
If you ask me now what is the color of love, I’d say it’s the shine of my peace of mine. It’s the smile I have worn everyday since I actively decided to choose me and my happiness, and not a single tear has fallen over you since, no second guessing, no having my feelings invalidated, no gaslighting, no heat damage pressed on these black curls, I have let them grow out unruly and free, I have never experienced bliss like this after a breakup before. It’s the flash of my mom’s camera as she captures me walking down the aisle during my graduation, I was so proud to be there after several nervous breakdowns and telling myself I was going to quit at least five times. It’s my toes dipped in the warm waters in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, the sun glistening off my smooth chocolate skin that has taken me so many years to be proud to live in, it’s my wounds some old and some new on proud display, learning to leave my Neosporin at home, but I am here and healing and laughing and learning to loving myself better as I haven’t let depression eat alive. If you ask me now what is the color of love, I will tell you that it is me. It has always been me.