Another "Morning After"

I can barely open my eyes.
Do I even want to?
Regret has spilled onto the sheets,
and sorrow has seeped into my pillow.

When you left this morning, 
I hope you took all of my feelings with you,
but I’m sure that you dismissed them,
because you do the same to yours.

I don’t know how we came to this point,
where we keep giving and giving, just to have nothing at all. 
Maybe we like watering what died a long time ago.
Maybe it’s because we hate the sound of goodbye.

written January 16, 2017.

For the First Time

There was a time when I didn’t want anyone’s arms
around me but my own. 
The thought of a man embracing me one moment
just to leave me in the long run, caused me to become reclusive. 
Then came you.

When you touched me, 
you told a story. 
Your hands meeting my skin
served as the segue into my soul.

Every crease, dip and curve  
were points for marking. 
You kissed my scars and traced my stretch marks.
You knew that my temple was my territory,
but you never made me feel like an object
for wanting to see what was inside.

Looking back, 
I’m not resentful. 
Tearful, but not resentful. 
I miss those moments, 
when a tickle turned into love making, 
and how you’d hold me through the night.

I’m not mad at you,
because for the first time in my life, 
it wasn’t just sex.
You felt me beyond the physical. 
You wanted more than just a release. 
You poured into me,
and exchanged your love for mine.

written November 8, 2016.

Right Now

Right now, I am free.
I am not concerned about what we are
or what we aren’t,
but simply what I feel in this very moment. 
And in this moment, I feel light. 

My laughter stems from the depths of my soul
and spills out into your space.
It intoxicates you.  
It coerces you into endless smiles and holding of hands and sloppy kisses.
It enables you to look at me in all of the ways you usually hide.

In this moment, you aren’t working,
and I’m not growing anxious over emails that never come. 
We are simply being. 

Your energy gravitates toward mine,
and they have a fine time together. 
Now I know what it means when they say
“What’s real doesn’t have to be explained.”

written September 9, 2016.

First and Last

I’ve got THC in my lungs
and Hennessy in my heart. 
My eyes are wet from wondering if tonight will be our last. 
I like it best this way.

I cling to you - a sign that I’m weary.
I kiss you, as if the moments to come will plant us a world apart. 
You ask me what’s wrong, 
and I respond by stripping down to skin.
Now is not the time to talk.

I close my eyes and whimper as you have your way with me. 
You fuck me like you already miss me.  
You make love to me like you care.

I grow closer towards my climax as you pick up the pace. 
You’re hurting me, but pain is passion after all.
My eyes search yours, and before I open my mouth,
“I love you” filters into my ears.

My lips part in awe,
and in a fraction of a second, my hands are caressing your face
as your kisses smother my cries. 
I’m hungry for you.

For the first time ever, you fill me up as you finish,
and a pool of pleasure collects underneath me. 
You collapse onto me and your body rests on top of mine.

I savor this newfound splendor, 
knowing that we were always a game of risks. 
Yet I remain silent as reality sets in.
This is no happy ending, this is a goodbye.

written August 11, 2016.

A Lifetime Kind of Love

I enter another a dimension as you make your way inside of me.
I don’t travel down old roads but I like the way this one feels. 
You touch me in places you were first acquainted with so many moons ago. 
It’s amazing how my body can’t help but make magic with yours.

We didn’t miss a beat,
but it’s clear that we missed each other,
and I’m sorry that for all of those months
I hid myself from you. 
I’ll exchange my scars for yours
if you’re willing to show me all of the places that the pain still resides. 
They say you can’t get healing from the one who hurt you, 
but I’m here to prove them wrong.

The crazy thing about our story,
is that neither one of us wanted it to exist.
Ink spewing from the same fountain,
as we fight for the narrative’s control. 
There are people from our past, and even more in our present,
who will try to disrupt our fluidity
to keep us from completing what our hearts have started. 
I won’t fight with them, but I’ll fight for you.

Let down your guard so that the plot strengthens instead of thickens. 
Allow me to water the soil that we stand on,
so that it becomes enriched with what we have to offer one another.
Let life take its course and don’t give fear the permission to stop it.
It would be a tragedy if you put an end to what we’re meant to be.

I want to be your reason, not a season.
I want to be your lifetime, not a loss.
Love me until your cup runneth over.
Love me until all you can do is love me some more.
Love me until it changes you for the better.
Love me until there’s no room for goodbye.

written August 7, 2016.

Just a Dream

I miss you.
I miss your smell,
and pressing my mouth against your
neck even if it’s not to kiss you. 
I miss tickling you with my nose.

I miss singing in your kitchen 
and watching in awe as you rap.
I miss dancing with you all over the house. 
I miss seeing the way you smile when I say something outlandish,
or when I milly rock for no reason.

You are sexy in so many ways,
even when you’re sleeping.
I just want to be wrapped up in your arms
every second of every day.

I dream of a night where we go into the city,
and get drunk and roam the streets with no destination in mind.
Your lips finally meet mine and you tell me that you love me 
as I become undone. 

We get a hotel since 5 am isn’t as far away as it feels.
As you lay me down,
your eyes behold me in a way I’ve never witnessed before. 
They don’t look at me like they want me for the awaiting moments of ecstasy,
they look at me like they want me for life.

written July 20, 2016.

I'm Sorry. I Love You.

I’m sorry that my worth couldn’t make you stay longer. 
I’m sorry that the way that I laugh and the way that I think wasn’t enough.
I’m sorry that you put limits on my feelings,
because you didn’t want to deal with them.
I guess you thought that they could be told where to go. 

I’m sorry that I let you down when I should have lifted you up.
I was young and selfish and overwhelmed.
My current behavior cannot make up for the mistrust
that past mistakes have created.
Now a chance with you is only rendered in a dream. 

I’m sorry that you feel this way.
I’m sorry that when you wanted me, I reduced us to fun and games -
I was under the impression that we mutually viewed things as such.
I ultimately minimized us to protect myself. 
I didn’t think about a future
because I didn’t know you cared enough to have one. 

Two years later here I am,
apologizing for things I haven’t even done,
feeling regretful about “then”
because it affects us now.

I guess it’s best that we don’t text or talk on the phone anymore.
I guess it’s best that you’re out of sight and out of mind. 
I guess it’s best that I don’t tell you that I love you.
I’m sorry that you’ll never know.

written July 11, 2016.

Sanctuaries

You allowed men to make homes out of a temple
they never appreciated beyond its walls.
They entered you so easily and left once they came.

You now mourn what was once an ethereal place of peace.
Countless spirits have resided within the confines of your soul,
and now you are stitching yourself back together.

You are weakened.
You are weary.
Everyone has a breaking point,
and yours is swiftly approaching.

You’ve loved men that had no clue how to love themselves,
and were treated like the very dirt you walk on.
You’ve held on to the hearts of past lovers for dear life,
while they took extreme measures to destroy yours.

It hasn’t been all bad, though.
There were a select few who would give you their all,
but you didn’t want to take it.
Sometimes you didn’t know how to.
The residue from the men before had already festered in your mind,
tarnished your heart, and toyed with your vision.

You are filthy inside.
Years of unresolved issues and suppressed emotions have piled up.
The pieces of people from your past have left their mark on you
without your consent.

You cannot scrub off your scars.
Repression does not erase what still lingers;
denial does not get rid of what devours.
I wonder,
if those that have harmed you so detrimentally, are hurting just the same.

written July 5, 2016.