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Art

the way you chew at my heart

spit it out

wipe your mouth

you make it look like art

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“in a dream you give me a spare key & change the locks right after” – onlywreckage

I forgive you. yes (and me too. I forgive myself too, most importantly. I guess) especially for those few times I hung my heart on a tree and waited all night for the sound of your heart beating, or better yet I waited, I sat and drew your laugh on my palms. I waited.

but I forgive you (and me. I hope). I forgive us because I tied the strings of my heart around your name and they were held together by your smile. So brief. I felt like dying and living while crying.

I am at this bus stop of healing. the conundrum is that I haven’t allowed the hurt to hurt. and you know what they say about pain..it demands to be felt. oh boy – it’s banging my door down

the truth is, I shouldn’t have to forgive you. you are not the one that made me read a story. it’s only that towards the end – all it felt like was that the rain kept coming down and there is never any way to stop it. and when it did- all that happened was I tried to keep us warm, I put up umbrellas and built a home. I even asked the rain to fall upwards and all you cared about was that the sun was still shining on your window but not mine, and you refused to let me in and I had to come up for air every now and then…because I’ve never been a ship that sinks, except maybe in my own tears – but never in a space of 47 days.

I shouldn’t have to forgive you because you managed to find your way in – it never really was your fault that I wasn’t doing anything with my heart anyway. and here I am, an orphaned & abandoned heart. you walk in sometimes, look around, dust off some dirt from your clothes and walk out like this was never home – come on, 47 days is a long time. you cannot tell me you do not remember. there’s planets revolving around your smile, your touch and your eyes in my chest.

I am trying to say the goodbye you’re not aware you have painted already but I would lay all my poems at your feet. it hurts everywhere- I’m sorry so about love

Red: Part 3

Lent. A time where Christians give up a habit for 40 days.

Yet. Here I am. Commiting to writing you a poem a day.

This is the only way I know how to love you. I am so glad you’re not religion.

Red – Part 2

Today I woke up to the sight of my bones collapsed around my body
And my heart hiding behind the shadows.
Where are you?
We’ve fought so hard.
We won battles and lost the war.

Baby.
Listen.
We’re tired.
We just want to hear your heart.
I have gone too many nights without saying goodnight.

Give me one fix.
One fix.
I won’t wake up with your name splashed across my pillow.
Tomorrow will be better.
It won’t feel like it’s been four years.
One last dose.
I swear.
Promise, I wont come back for more.

Read the first part here: https://ideasandwhatnots.wordpress.com/2017/02/08/red-a-series/

Day 22: Things People Say

Beaut

The African Hippy

Shame
You’ll be fine
I wish I was as bold
So what is it you do?
Where do you buy your clothes?
Oh, but you’re so strong
I can’t place you
Wow, you’re pretty
Who are you friends with? I always see you alone
If I knew where you lived, I would follow you home and rape you
Love your outfit
At least you’re not vegan
Your hard work will pay off
You look like you should be in…
What do you write?
You’re different
I would NEVER do that
What music are you into?
And your parents are ok with the way you dress?
Smile sweetheart, you look angry
Have you ever lived in Europe?
Why do you still buy CDs?
I don’t know who told you it was a good idea to shave your hair, but…
Are you really black?
THAT’S your ex?
I like you

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An Open letter: Undeserving Part II

I tried crying over you.

About you

And for you
But all I could do was pace up and down.
My body shaking.
I took walks instead.
And rebuilt my bones
Laughed at you.
Laughed at how your body cried out when your eyes sassed me out of a crowd of a dozen people.
Tell me… Is this how hate works?
Your mouth loving me today
Breaking me tomorrow
And your eyes not too sure where to look after that?
All I’m trying to do
Is unpack the hate knocked in the small acts of some type of endearment.
I’m trying to find the hate in the moments of declarations.
It should have been brave enough to not hide behind your fears of loving and living.