I’m your biggest fan.
And you ain’t no celebrity [yet],
I still find myself waiting for you
With a similar nonexistent promise that you’ll return anything back to me,
I’m no convenient menagerie
No pretty thing that waits for you behind glass of monogamy
For everyone to see,
For you to hold close to your ego masculinity
But text when you can
Call when you can
See when you can
My Love ain’t convenient
Ain’t “chill” girl that waits for things to be easy
Ain’t “easy-going” girl that doesn’t get jealous
Ain’t “give you space” type girl
Ain’t “do you” type girl
My pussy ain’t no museum for you to visit on Thursdays when entry is cheap
Ain’t no dust collecting on my life for you
Yeah, you cute,
Muscles working hard to maintain what you think a star looks like
While I stare at the stars in the glint of your smile
Or the ones that glisten when you look in my eyes…
When we’re together,
I feel the pieces fit back together in my heart
And I feel wholeness anew
Like holding your hand looking at stars type cute,
But starlight is only beautiful because it’s so far away
And I ain’t waiting for the light at the end of your potential
Although there’s something romantic in that
glow that comes from me loving you
Makes my beauty shine
Even through that glass of monogamy you I press cold hands to
When you’re away
Your absence
Makes bright brown eyes sad in that “hold me” kind of way
But you’re not here to do it,
And my past beckons me
Back to the gratification of any and all needs from the hands of men
Who see what sometimes I think you forget.
You’re dating all of me
The
Go out, glowed up, cocktails & hookah, everybody staring at what we have type girl
With the
Cooking Illustrated have you ever had rabbit, my mom finally taught me how to make greens, cornbread, let’s have fried chicken at home, I got the food if you got the dishes type girl,
With the
Glasses & sweater & leggings, writing anthologies of my love for you interjected with thoughtpieces on the Black condition, feminism, and urban resilience type girl
And the
put your tux on we’re invited to the gala, I’m speaking at the conference, leading my generation toward unapologetic liberation type girl
It’s a high mantle,
Being the only thing that holds me up.
I have prophecies on my path,
worlds of pain on my shoulders,
Generations of poverty to bear through my labor,
Black pain coating lungs like paint,
And you,
The tree that reminds me I can breathe.
What am I supposed to do when you can’t be my comfort?
Ain’t Black love supposed to solve the legacy of slavery?
Isn’t that what they told us?
Makes me wonder if we’re even capable of love.
Makes me wonder if I even give you joy anymore.
And then I start spinning myself in these circles revolving between high self-worth and
Not wanting to feel the worthlessness I would if I chased you away.
Not to mention,
It’s only been two months.
And this is the second poem I’ve written like this,
But the first one disappeared,
The moment I saw you again.
Makes me wonder if I’m incomplete without you,
Or missing pieces I once had to myself.
Living Engimatically 