Stare

I stare at myself in the mirror

Sometimes for minutes at a time

Thoughts on how I much I love myself

Or hate myself

Depending on the time of day and the color of my mood

I would say things like "Hey, sexy!" or "Damn, I can't stand this (insert body part here)"

Sometime I angle my body so it can look like an artist drew me

And then I'll paint myself with jewelry

But the best time is when I get out the shower

Then I'll get vulnerable with my reflection

Picking myself apart and examining every natural fiber.

Working hard to accept what's before me as a masterpiece

Because I have scarred myself with verbal missile attacks

There are things that not even cocoa butter can heal

But each day I'm accepting of what makes my body unique

Not that it's aesthetically perfect

But strong, functional, and healthy.

Today I stare at myself in the mirror

Because I'm entranced at what makes me beautiful

Which is my growing confidence and declaration of my own existence. 

Damn Near (Mental health trigger warning)

I often pray to become everesent 

Because I felt unworthy of pleasure.

Who was I to feel any kind of joy?

But instead I cried.

I cried to cleanse and to ease the pain.

I kissed my heart and wiped away her tears.

Tried to reassure her that it was going to be okay

Even if being okay meant staying out of bed

Even if it meant being okay enough to let in positive thoughts.

To just crack the door in my mind--only to let a little light in.

Okay enough to just be be still and let the hurt subside.

I damn near wanted to give up.

Couldn't find any excuses for my sadness

Was just sad.

Sad enough to want the reaper.

Sad enough to want to be buried alive

To feel the pain and the suffocation

As punishment for daring to leave the one invisible lover who never goes away

It continues to stays and binge on my brokenness

That day it almost killed me.

Damn near.

Sometimes

I dream with my eyes open

Imagining an existence where hiding in my shell no long feels like a refuge and a cage all at once.

Because Sometimes I fear myself

I fear being great

Afraid of exploding like a nuclear bomb that creates blinding light and destruction

What if like splitting atoms, I destroy myself in the process?

Good Hair

You've been good hair.
You grew with me throughout tough transitions
From breakups to scholarly ambitions
From mental hospital to job interviews

You've been good hair
I decided to loc you up
Because I wanted to embrace you
But you've been the one to embrace me

You've been good hair
I cried on you
Slept on you
Felt you on my cheek while I laughed

You've been good hair
You've swung when I exercised
Or when I turned my head too quickly
You've bounced with me while I made love to my man
(Feeling every vibration)

You've been good hair
I've watched you mature
I've watched you break
You were my scarf on cold winter days.

You've been good hair
But wondering how long would our journey continue?
I think I want a brand new transition.
But I'm too attached to let you go now.

You are good hair.

Only Words

At times I find myself grasping for syllables
Looking up words that are powerful enough to heal
But they only flake and peel like old skin
Falling to their grave without purpose or life

I look into your eyes and see pain
The way you look at me, it's as if you want to convince yourself we're fine
But we're not fine--
I've cut into you and there's no more blood left to be spilled.

How can one say they're sorry for sucking you dry?
For making them believe that their dreams were real?
When they weren't--
They were only illusions of what we wanted our lives to be.

I don't know where to find the words to use as bandages
To cover up your aching heart like a twisted ankle
I wish you hated me so that you'd be free
And I wouldn't have to keep searching for my tongue

Because every time you talk about your pain
I want to erase everything I've done to cause it.
But there aren't enough syllables, letters, or words
Phrases, sentences, or paragraphs that could accurately describe

My level of shame and how bad I wish you'd just leave me.

Bite of a flame

Warm at first
Then  a sudden gnawing
As if it were warning me to keep my distance
As if my skin cells were toxic
The flame, if it were to bite, would leave a pain that was memorable but unseen.
It did not leave a mark
But it left an impression
It told me to not tamper with its nature.
And to respect its aura from a reasonable distance
Far enough so that my lust for it,
will not penetrate its yellow and orange embers.