2 months.

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


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.





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s