Month: February 2015

Handwritten Kisses

I would have been a lost scroll had it not been your handwritten kisses on my shoulder. I find it odd that you resemble the lost happiness I left at the doorstep of my sanity when he left. All along I’ve been finding pieces of him with bodies I lay with. And all the ghosts they brought with them? We sat and had lemon water with their pasts to discuss the black hole he left inside.

He could have set me on fire and I’d still be up like this remembering the home that he built for me in his arms. But I’m scrolling this cause your arms felt like home too.

Im sorry though. I do not mean to hornet over him in a note to you. I just need you to know that I have walked on hot sands attempting to burn his memory and remove him from my soul. I failed.

I failed many times.

But you, you remind me of a time when all my happiness was within reach. Your skin tastes like caramel flavored smiles. And your voice is like a special place to live in. The truth is I didn’t see his ghost in you. I was so nervously shocked. I was hurt. Sometimes you live with sadness. Sadness and loss. You live with them and they become your companions. That is all I’ve known lately. I grew accustomed to laying next to hot bodies and cold emotions with every thought aligned to him, my heart screaming for him.

The truth is my darling, you will not find your broken heart in my uterus. You will not heal by burying your pain on my body.

Listen. I thank you.

Even though I know this will end in me running back to a place where he hurt me and not your arms. I must thank you for allowing me to bask in your kingdom. I do not know how it will end for you. Maybe you will go back to she whom you call home. You’re majestic. You’re godly. And I could love you. But love is a concept I haven’t conquered. And you lie besides me thinking of her ghosts. Her canvas and the only love you received. I let you knowing that you’re thinking of her smile and her skin but maybe not her love.

Here is the thing: I never found my healing in other people. You will not stumble upon yours in my presence either. Your healing is not in my smile or laughter or eyes. I am not medicine.

I hope you bury your ghosts. I left mine in your bed.




“Do you still perform autopsies on conversations you had lives ago?”- Donte Collins