Tag Archives: poetry

Body Smile

Now that you know
You were better than I was ready for
It’s not like before, no
Tonight I’m making up for it all
For every time I let you cry
I will make your whole body smile

Timing’s a funny thing. We get it wrong and the encounter—the words, the fumbling, the flavors, the weather—the whole exchange is tragedy written and assembled for lamentation. All this when regret doesn’t offer much of a beat to dance or even stomp to. This song says otherwise, it sings into existence a man who voluntarily offers a parable of his shortcomings and yet goes on to imagine a love that has waited patiently for his decency. I wonder how many people would be persuaded by a dry plea. How many women would find favor with a man of no lyrical capacity, one who has simply and finally grown up but does not possess the ability communicate this so it sounds like candy? That’s the thing about music, the entire story wraps up in under five minutes. Real life is so messy, so horribly maintained. It’s just not as beautiful or as easily mended.

I hope you like the song, I’ve been playing it constantly for the past few weeks since DVSN’s new album dropped. It is quite simply a fantastic euphoria!

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Breakup Blues

 

My favorite Instagram couple broke up. They were literally #blacklove #couplegoals; cute pictures together on each others profiles; names next to heart emojis in their bios; and endless declarations of love in the comment sections of one another’s posts. It was all perfectly adorable. Well, until it ended. No more pictures. No more I love you, baby’s. No more, never let me go’s. No more you are my forever’s. No more dancing in the dark. No more loving in the light. When I noticed the absence of their affection I felt oddly concerned, like somehow I needed closure too. What happened? Did he cheat? Did she quit? Did she cheat? Did he move? Did they grow apart or stop trying. Are they broken now? Is the damage irreparable? Of course this led me to twitter, where a medley of subliminal messages wrapped in genuine pain found room to nest.

I said forever.
She messed up.
I don’t want to see him with someone else.
I give people way too many chances.

They both seem so hurt, and so tragically in love. I am devastated for them- these strangers I have no business feeling anything for, whose love I seem to have irresponsibly admired.

It made me realize how unwittingly reckless we can be with our hearts. I remember writing subliminal messages two and a half years ago as I second-guessed my decision to end my last relationship. I remember missing our friendship more than anything, and wanting so desperately to cry on his shoulder about our breakup. I remember making a video, writing blog posts and reading self-help books all in effort to heal and let him go. I remember deleting him on Facebook in anticipation of the day his status would change from single to in a relationship. I remember running to 90s R&B breakup tracks, and clutching at my side deceptively as tears welled in my eyes, when really it was my heart that was hurting. We’d been together for years and I fell out of love and I thought I’d be okay. When it came down to it, when the words were said, it suddenly dawned on me that this person was in my system and it didn’t matter how prepared I thought I was, he still rented rooms in my being. I couldn’t see myself marrying him and simultaneously, I didn’t know how to unlove us for the longest time.

Two and a half years on, I don’t miss him, I don’t love him and I want him to be happy. I want him to be loved. I want someone to see him the way I did when we met and I want their narrative to end in promises they intend to keep. Should my favorite Instagram couple not find a way to reconcile, I hope they heal enough to only ever want good things for each other.

Someone asked me a few months ago what type of men I attract, and I said: “I don’t really know”, when I should have said: “all the wrong ones”. The ones that want more than I can give, or the ones that want parts of me I’m not ready to give, or the ones that don’t really want me at all. The ones that still think it’s cool to hurt people’s feelings and keep a count of the number of women they’ve slept with. Anyway, I think love is meant to hurt sometimes. Not so much that it breaks you, just enough that you feel like there’s something to lose. I can’t love right now because I’m not strong enough to overcome the inevitable hurt. The same someone made me realize that a couple months ago and reiterated it again today. So to that someone, at 26, I don’t need to hurt you or play any games. I just want you to be happy. I’m old enough to know that’s all I should really want for you. I’m wise enough to know she might be the one to give it to you.

So I hope you are.

Happy.

Take care.

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She, The Ocean

There is an ocean I fear.
The waves are strong,
And the water is shallow.
The coral reefs are sharp,
And the salt stings my eyes.
She is beauty packaged in lies,
Floating stories written in blood,
She is uncontrollable and inconsistent,
A wild, rebellious wonder,
A callous, unforgiving punisher,
A beautiful, inviting stranger.
She breaks hearts and bones,
Her consumption unexpected,
Love her and she will be the medicine that mends your soul,
You will learn why they fall deeply, quickly,
Into her arms, into her whole,
And when they rise, if they rise,
… May they rise.
This ocean.
The monster that loves,
The heart that beats and pounds,
A raw crash on unstable ground.
Wave after wave.
Waves and more waves.

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Surely He Lives

“Whoso has felt the spirit of the Highest,
Cannot confound nor doubt Him, nor deny,
Yea, with one voice, O world, though thou deniest,
Stand thou on that side, for on this am I!” – F.W.H. Myers

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I very rarely get it right. Most days I grapple with the idea that a Being so great would live and love us so completely as to let us choose. Most mornings, I wonder why I have to endure the task of a day’s worth of everything that goes against the rationale that God could exist. But He must. For me to live, He must. And if the day should ever come when I find He doesn’t, so my life will reach its end.

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A Kind of Nothing

He told me to write.
“Write about nothing.” He said.
The kind of nothing that matters.
The kind of nothing you worry about.
The kind of nothing that plagues your dreams.
The kind of nothing that feeds off of your soul.
The kind of nothing that makes you weak.
The kind of nothing that makes you scream.
The kind of nothing that makes you bleed.
The kind of nothing that makes you, you.
For in doing so, you may well find that it counts.
“Yes” He said. “Your nothing counts for something.”

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Distorted truths

I spend too much time falling in love with memories that my mind has dusted, soaped up, and wiped down. However, my infatuation never seems to be with people but more so with a distortion of the truth; an illusion of who they really are. Sometimes this is not at all based on any real understanding of them, but on a fantasy I created of who I needed them to be in that moment that I orchestrated their role in my mind. Why can’t I ever see people without creating some narrative about them that convinces me of their personalities and characteristics, when in fact it is for them to show me what I need to see?

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The orange sky

The sky is orange. It’s dark but it’s orange. At least that’s what it appears to be, looking out of my window passed the burglar bars and into this thing they call the night- this sinister phenomenon of the sky. This defibrillator seen to be restoring the order of sin and adventure to once stilled hearts. Sadness, seduction, rage, miscommunication, mistake, malice. We’ll hear their voices in the street. But at the sight of the rising sun, all will be made well or excused and we will wonder; what is it about the orange sky.

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