This Book is available for download, 2 of my poems have been published in this book:
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Laying in sinfully white linen,
Covering the remains of my body,
Which are drenched in sex and loneliness.
Unable to fathom the debt I paid for love,
Because no one is able to hold me once you’re gone.
Not only am I swimming in your sweat,
I’m drowning in thoughts of you,
Unable to utter another man’s name.
Unable to spit out the sins I effortlessly swallowed last night.
Unable to get you out of my head…
Because the Coffee I wanted so bad,
Landed up being the Coffin I eagerly buried myself in.
I can’t help but reminisce about how bad I longed for your kiss,
The same kiss which happened to suck out my soul, along with my logic.
I am as unfamiliar with my surroundings as I am to myself.
A constellation of regret lays swift on my window seal,
As I did on the bed, waiting to be consumed by your darkness,
Because the stars and I aren’t strangers to the one thing that makes us Come alive…
A passionate history of empty promises,
In the chamber of moments never written,
I was waiting for you…
poured out like perfume –
No wonder I adored you so much.
Just wanting you to look at me once more…
Just look at me like love.
And like a break from war,
I accept you with open arms wide open,
Just glad that you’re breathing again,
And glad that you’re whole.
Now I am everything depicting broken because it is my heart that you stole.
Now here you are…
And I am unable to feel my own hollow; due to the illusion that you make me whole.
Waking up next to you, with the smell of coffee brewing parallel to morning dust.
Coffee synonymous to lust
At this moment, I am unable to differentiate between love and lust.
I’ve avoided so many potential heartbreaks
Yet I still want to face your heads on.
Upon preparation for this moment
I specifically said I wanted coffee.
And not coffee in the morning.
But Coffee as a gesture.
A simple gesture to show that you care.
I love myself enough for it to over shadow the love I initially thought I needed from others.
I destroy every soul I am close enough to touch.
Who owns rape?
Because I’ve been indirectly told that it cannot belong to me.
With things like…
Lets go over this again.
Who did it?
Are you sure?
What did you do?
I am sorry that I can recall things I do not want to.
Like unfamiliar energies taking down my circuits.
I apologize that I’m not the skinny girl with a short skirt.
I am sorry that I possess a rape memory.
And honestly, you can have it back.
I never wanted it to belong to me.
Yet, you’re acting like I’m unworthy.
As if rape comes with standards.
While most women fixate on what they could’ve done to prevent it.
I have to fixate on what’s so unbelievable about it happening to me.
I start becoming ashamed to tell my story.
Who would listen without judgment?