Collection

For M

Lol so the year 2017 was the worst year of my life. My grandma died six days before my birthday, then my big brother died in May, and I was dealing with my ex who had a boyfriend at the time. This poem is for the nigga she was dating.

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Do you know? The way she talks to me? The way she begs for me to taste her? The things she says to me would have you cumming in your pants.

Does she tell you about me? About how we never run out of things to talk about?

Did she tell you that we talk about you? About my fear of losing her to you once again and about the ways you don't treat her as well as I did — as well as I could again?

I see you so often. Walking through the halls of the place she and I met...as if you don't know you have everything I didn't know I wanted until it was too late.

I see you and I want to hit you, punch you, kick you until you're black and blue and purple and red and feeling the pain I feel everyday...knowing you have what belongs to me. Knowing that you can touch, kiss, fuck, love every inch of her.

Every inch of her smooth skin, every inch of her flawed and amazing soul, every inch of that mind that runs a mile a minute.

I see you and I want to go up to you and laugh in your face, show you the messages proving she never stopped being mine. Proving she never will stop being mine.

I see you and I want to ask how you can mistreat one of the only people I really regret letting go.

God, and she's something, isn't she?

Her voice, louder than a frat party at 2am on a Friday night.

The way she throws her head back when she laughs, the way that laugh sounds as though it comes from the deepest parts of her soul.

The way she smiles and makes the whole world feel like a better place.

Why can't I let her go? Why can't I let her be happy with you?

(Because it's one thing for me to send her away and a completely different thing for her to leave...)

Did she tell you that? That she left me for you? Blocked me, stopped texting me back, she just left...

I realize now that I should have fought for her. I should've fought like hell.

And now you have her. Not completely, not fully and not permanently.

She's not yours.
But by god, she isn't mine either.
She's her own.

But, oh, how I wish she were mine.