Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Poem: Soot.

Photo illustrated for me, by @wutang_warren (Instagram.) 

At twenty-six
you could not fathom the words

“You’re just not someone I’m attracted to physically.”

coming from the lips
of someone you loved
or someone you thought loved you

It’s in this moment
that you will realize
that no matter how talented
and ambitious you are

you cannot force someone to adore you
the way you do them

the clichés will come
girl…he doesn’t know what he’s missing
girl….there’s so many fish in the sea
girllll…you’re beautiful inside and out

but I’ve been waiting for someone to love me inside out
been watching hands turn to dismissive waves,
instead of grips and interlocking,
for far too long

I wear my bruises with honor:
these red marks around my neck are from the last time I got away,
this piece of my heart found its way back home after a great
Elizabeth Gilbert quote about soul mates and reflections,
these stretch marks are from the fifty pounds I lost just to love me again,
these notebooks are filled with stories about men whose lives I’ve changed:
men who always find their way back when it’s too late,
this illumination is for those who step in for sunshine and leave
when they’ve diminished me to darkness

we cling to morals
strap our values to our backs,
only for them to loosen
when our hearts are broken
or when we’re tired
or when we’re lonely
or when God isn’t enough
or when something strikes a chord in us
or when your intuition is nagging, but you heart is persistent
or when we’re shattered
or when the rainbow should have been enough
or when a memory cracks you open like an eggshell


I seen you shiver girl,
I know it, because I do it too
tremble at the thought that simplicity and I
might never know one another
Kiss the cheeks of pretty little brown boys
and listen to my womb echo

I tell stories
I mean memoirs
I mean truths
of girls/women who cannot speak
who have forgotten their tongues
who trust with a fury,
stretch their limbs for embrace
and only know dust,
pieces of boys placed
where men are supposed to be

we are covered
in the soot of a generation burning:
one that sees love as weakness
and kindness as a gesture

I whispered in the ear of a lover
that he was my everything
and he told me that I was poor

perhaps he was right.