A Damn Mess

I was licking my wounds
but you stopped me.
You wanted to do it
so I let you.
You licked and sucked till
my wounds became scars.
Then, you cut me again
at the exact same spots.

So, here I am, a damn mess,
studying our synastry chart
for the 50th time,
fiddling with tarot cards,
tiredlessly hoping you’d come back.
I want your tongue and yours alone,
and I know that even if you return,
you would lick me up
so you can cut me again.

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What is Love? III: A Cage

a_bird_in_a_cage_by_sebowebo-d5esu3r

“A Bird in a Cage” | Sebastian Gomez 

Dear Love,
why don’t you love me?
Why do you like to punish me?
You possess and drain my strength,
but you let the other go scot-free.
When I am in you
and when I am not,
when you are in me
and when you are not,
I am always lonely.

She Suffers II: “Where are You?”

Tom-Thomson-Woodland-Waterfall-RTT02

“Woodland Waterfall” by Tom Thomson

The man isn’t clingy;
“clingy” is too belittling,
it’s degrading,
too degrading.

He is possessive;
he knows what he wants
and he’ll get and keep it at all costs.
Being possessive is cute.

The woman is possessive?
I think not.
She is clingy,
maybe too clingy.
You can’t own a man;
you have to let him live.
A man is not built to be
with just one woman.

You see, unfortunately,
men can’t be hoes,
but women can.
Being clingy isn’t cute;
it will never be.

I’m Not a Bloody Playtime Pool

Drown

Painted by Brian Kirhagis

You wanted to be let in,
into the flow of my emotions,
into the depths of my feelings.
Why do you want to leave now?
Oh!
You have your life to live now?

I asked if you could swim
and you said “yes”,
you’d do anything to get in.

Is it too cold for you now?
Is my water too dirty for you,
too contaminated for your soul?
Do your lifeguards want you out now?

Were you looking to find fishes in me,
to feed them and keep them for your use?
Are you disappointed that there are none?
Do you wish that I was more salty?
Have you found a different water?

Why don’t you talk to me?
I don’t want you out of me;
your presence satisfies me.
I am so used to you;
I don’t know what to do.

You can’t just make me trust you
and then mess up.
Cum, tears, sweat, blood, pee;
how do I separate all of you from me?

You see, this is the kind of shit that…
*whew!*
…this is the kind of stuff
that gets motherfuckers drowned.
I’m not a bloody playtime pool.

I’m a sea.

-Yemoja 

Love and Imperfection

We strive to touch the stars;
we reach for them.
We crave to hold them in our palms
but we often forget that
stars have sharp ends.

When we get pinched,
we doubt that what we have is a star.
“This can’t be it;
this can’t be all I’ve dreamed of.”

So, we release it;
we let it go.
We begin to confuse ourselves.

We tell ourselves that a moon
can make a better star
because it doesn’t look like
it has sharp ends,
but the moon usually ends up being
either too big for us to carry
when it is full,
or sharper than the star
when it has proper blades-
when it is a half-moon or a crescent.

When we get hurt again,
when reality sets in once more,
we move to the sun.
We say-
“the sun looks more stable;
it’s far better than the rest”,
but we usually get burned instead.

We return to the star
in a worse condition
than we would have been
if we had been patient,
if we had stayed with it,
but it may or may not
let us hold it in our palms again.
It may or may not take us back.

So has it been with many things;
so has it been with love.

Dead Love IV

African Woan

She was only married for 5 years,
but she lived with the man
till the day of her death.
First, he was the love of her life,
then he became her man,
then he became her husband,
then he became the father of her children,
then he became the man,
till he was simply a man,
a man that she lived with,
that she had sex with,
that she fed,
that she washed clothes for,
that she went to events with.
A man, and nothing more.

Unre-QUIT-ed VIII

“I don’t feel the same way about you.”
“I don’t feel the same way…”
“I don’t feel the same…”
“I don’t feel…”

There you are!

Feeling all things and everything
so intensely about a person
in the deepest parts of your soul,
losing the strength to be alone,
trying really hard to be whole,
and they “don’t feel” any of it.

Nothing hurts more.

Unre-QUIT-ed VII

He never expressed it;
he imprisoned the love he had for me.
Sometimes, it would try to escape
through his mouth,
but he would swallow it again.
At other times,
it would try to escape through his hands,
but he would pull them back.
After a while, he could not
hide it from his eyes;
I could see the love in his eyes.
He would shut them tight and look away,
and when he looked back at me,
I would see the imprisoned love again-
begging for freedom,
asking for help,
screaming my name…

Decide Now

Emit a change;
it’s high time.
Come to your senses;
I’m losing mine.
Make up your mind;
I mind.
There’s only so much
that I can take;
wake.

‘No Use’ is Abuse II

She used to miss him more
when they were together
than she does now.
His absence was difficult
to deal with when he was present;
it isn’t now.