poetry
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I’m not an architect but I keep making plans Hoping one day the world would fit in the palm of my hands Praying that one day I could make you mine But loving you is like watching the sun rise It’s beautiful and brilliant but it’s not only for me But honestly you’re the woman…
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January Winter doesn’t feel the same anymore. I miss the bitter cold Winters of my youth. The ones where the cold would sink into one’s bones. It physically hurt to breathe. Those are the winters that I miss. Because I could make an excuse for the tears in my eyes. Tears of sadness, frustration, anger.…
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I’ve been crying lately at the most seemingly random times. This healing journey is no joke. Did you know that you have to feel your feelings and not rationalize them away? I sure didn’t. Now, a wave of emotion hits me and I crumble where I stand. Feeling negative emotions after being hurt feels like…
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Meeting you in a past life would have been a waste. The old versions of me would not be able to handle all of you. The way that you view the world is quite innocent. There’s still good in the world in your eyes. My heart has been worn down by disappointment. Straining to find…
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30 looms around the corner but I’m not afraid of it anymore. There’s something about society telling us to be young forever ..that seems like a scam. Youth wasn’t all it was set up to be. The life I was supposed to led was dictated by reality tv. That wasn’t the life meant for me.…
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Asking for another new beginning seems redundant at this point. Yet here we are, on the precipice of something great, or so it would seem. My body is too fragile. To suffer another loss would be devastating. So please, let me have this tabula rasa. For the final time.
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In the face of a white man, I’ll always be a black woman. I only get to be myself when I’m by myself. Gender, identity, preferences blur then fall away all together. I don’t have to pretend to be everyone that I’m not. I’m tired of trying on someone else’s persona in order to feel…
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Please pick up the phone. You need to know the truth. My heart aches knowing that I’m lying to the person that I love. But there’s this weight I’ve been carrying for far too long. This feeling of discomfort fills my stomach. The thought of a future where my mistakes no longer haunt me. That’s…
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To all those who wanted to see me fail, you got your wish. I failed beautifully and triumphantly. My failures pushed me to the depths of cruelty, Touched and desired by men who wanted nothing but to see me bleed. For your enemies root for your downfall.
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The perfect Sunday does exist. It’s me laying in bed listening to my person type away at the computer. The mouse clicks and keyboard clacks sound determined. It’s the perfect background noise coupled with the fan that hits ever so gently. Is this what peace feels like? I never got to experience a restful Sunday…
Trapped In The Margins 