I still think about how you replaced me so easily; it used to drive me crazy. Now crazy drives me to become irreplaceable.
You treat my affection the way children do their closet doors on late nights when they can’t sleep because of that shadow they saw cast across their bedroom wall. Or the noise that creeks from the aged floorboards of their home because of the October wind. Or the insidious thoughts that force their way inside of the brain after staying up to watch that scary movie they just couldn’t seem to turn off.
You treat my affection as if it’s a monster in your closet. You shut me out because you’re a coward.
I haven’t forgotten the words you inspired.
The gentle whispers of nostalgia resonating in my ears from your pretty pursed lips would probably leave me as coral as your lipstick if my skin wasn’t so drenched in melanin.
But your actions are screaming.
And I can barely hear what you’re saying over what you continue to do.
I hate math. But it doesn’t take a mathematician to know that 1+1 will always equal ‘2’. Whether I wake up tomorrow, or lapse into a coma for a year; when I regain consciousness, I will still be sure of the answer. That when you put 1 and 1 together, the end result remains the same, indubitably. And I think that’s how love should be. A sure fuckin’ thing. I’m not afraid that 1+1 will ever equate to anything else and I wish I could say the same for me+you.
Relationships and flings can wait. Chase success. If you must lust, lust only for the root of all evil but remember your first love and give back out of the goodness of your heart. Say, “yes” more. Try something for the first time, all the time. Forgive those who persecute you. Hatred and unforgiveness are double-edged swords; like drinking poison and expecting the object of your resentment to die. Allow the past to make you better, not bitter. Every single day is an opportunity to improve yourself. Tomorrow is never promised, so take heed of today. Never go to bed mad. Don’t allow your chin and your chest to touch in public. Those who stand against you would love this. Treat yourself every once in awhile because you damn well deserve it. Failure feels like shit because it doubles as manure for the inevitable success that will grow out of it. Don’t talk about it, make it happen. Delete the word impossible from your vocabulary. Delete negativity from your life. Happiness is not a destination. No one controls your emotional state but you. If you want to be happy, be happy. There’s a time for anger, a time for grief, a time for sadness, a time for disappointment; however, these times should be fleeting. Stray from the herd. Don’t be a conformist. Continue to think outside of the box. Draw the box. Create the box. Produce the box. Shred the box to pieces. Innovate something different instead. You’re a leader, act like it. Focus. Do you. Lions don’t trip over the opinions of sheep. 2013 is your jungle.
Did you know that Penguins
march up to 70 miles to see
their mates for just one time
a year? And the male anglerfish is
born without a digestive system
and literally becomes one with
his mate to survive. And guppies
will stand their ground to predators
as threatening as sharks just to protect
their loved one. And the more I think
about you and learn about animal behavior
the more I realize that the 2% that separates us
from monkeys is an extremely
I noticed that the very thought of you gives me this feeling very similar to butterflies.
I guess the only difference is my chest must be composed entirely of memory foam. You know, like those mattresses for old people? Because my upper body feels permanently caved in where you used to lay your head and echo your secrets. And every word that dripped from your tongue seemed to do the same from the stalactites for an eternity; as if someone left a single knob slightly loose on the sink that is my damn ribcage.
And butterflies don’t live in caves, bats do.
And butterflies aren’t nocturnal like bats are.
And since you’ve been gone the day time is the only time I can escape this feeling.
But at night, the bats always seem to come out.
When you speak I love to listen.
And your words glisten with such ambition that, without my permission, every time you open your mouth to exclaim mine does the same; and I look insane because when you finish your sentence, here I am still stuck in this position.
Because of you, Eloquence, it is now a tradition for my body to feel like every room we’re in together is a toaster, and my mouth has been open for so long it’s as if my chin needs a coaster.
You understand that if your mind is aligned with Fresh Prince’s co-star, that pure physical beauty can only get you so far.
You see I’m not easily impressed by the Hilary’s.
The greater the intellectual finesse, the less time I spend trying to guess if I ever intend on watching our clothes descend.
But I’ll spend all the time in the world ‘til we get there. Because, like wine, the longer I spare and leave you in the distillery the better the fruit of the vine tastes.
Conversations with you leave my soul and mind in great shape.
That’s why I can’t wait for every opportunity I get to witness you exercise your First Amendment rights.
Every word that leaves your lips picks me up and takes me to new contentment heights.
Even Jesus Christ spoke that, “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.”
So that might explain why every time I listen to you speak it’s like scripture, and I can’t help but feel like I’m fortunate enough to witness your words secretly paint me a picture of paradise.
To find a woman like you will inspire any man to aspire to start rolling a pair of dice.
I’m nearly 4 months away and yet, just an utterance from your lips are as loud as they were before. In what seems like an instant, your words seem to take me back to the future like a DeLorean and leave my brain there; wandering in a labyrinth composed of nostalgic memories of white picket fences and a dress to match.
Why do we make promises made of glass to one another and then choose to throw stones?
It must be that we’d rather appear as strong and immovable as a boulder than as transparent and fragile as a window.
I was doing just fine.
Until you decided to effortlessly project the epitome of beauty through a smile.
A smile that I swear would have done a better job tempting Jesus in the desert than the devil ever could.
I was doing just fine.
Until you gave me that look.
A look that screams “you can trust me”, but gently whispers that you already know the things I keep hidden behind these walls.
A look that sees right through me without permission.
I was doing just fine.
Until you made me realize that “just fine” is just, not.
I lust for phenomenal.
I crave extraordinary.
They say intoxication is a method of translation.
Filtering out the useless games men and women play and the frustration that comes along with it.
Leaving behind, truthfulness.
It seems ludicrous to me that too much Hennessy will lead us to damnation.
When alcohol seems to be the inspiration behind honesty.
So if God is love,
and if Gin helps us profess love from within,
our only real sin is letting these walls we have built up inside keep us from expressing how we truly feel.
So let’s get drunk and pretend these walls no longer exist.
Or we can just pretend to be..
I notice that those with the most beautiful souls are the same souls who’s soles have taken a toll.
Those same beings appreciate the little things.
And it’s contagious.
Let me say this,
being courageous doesn’t mean to be without fear.
True courage is found within those who realize that we all reside in the gutter but yet, still choose to observe the stars.
It’s been many months since I’ve talked to you. Today I witnessed a big sister picking on her little brother. Sound familiar? :]
Anyways, it made me realize how much I miss you. I miss the many times I would come to you for advice; you’d stay up all night listening to what I had to say. Sometimes not offering a solution; simply to listen. I miss watching MadTV with you while I would attempt to eat sunflower seeds. I never understood any of the humor on the show at that age but just kickin’ it with you was plenty entertainment. I miss the hip-hop dancing. How you, Justan, and I would mimic the choreography to entire Usher, Omarion, and Michael Jackson music videos. I miss the sibling bickering. We would fight over the stupidest shit. Our family still tells the story to this day about the time you blew air in my face until I cried and wouldn’t share your Hot Cheetos with me. And how I retaliated by taking my “PlaySkool” plastic T-ball bat to the back of your head. Ahahaha! I hated when you would pick on me back then. Now I miss it. Now I know it was all love.
Love was such a concrete word as a child. An action word that was thought to have been expressed through simple gestures between two people who were, unfortunately, infested with cooties. I would call Mom and Pops kissing, “love”. And sure, they are a damn near perfect example of what love should look like (in a marriage), but now I’ve grown to learn that love is far from being so simple and concrete; it’s abstract in nature.
Abstract art uses a visual language of form, color and line to create a composition which may exist with a degree of independence from visual references in the world. Love and abstract art are two in the same. I’ve acquired a “sixth sense” for both. Even in the worst of times, I’ve been able to see through all the bullshit the world can throw in my path and instead look at the opportunity in it. Adversity is synonymous with opportunity. Every hard time I come across is just another chance for me to rise; to come out on top better than I was before. Impossible is nothing and even states within the word itself, “I’m possible”. I’m not the same kid you used to bully anymore. I love myself. You would be so proud of me. Love is within me. I spread love to those around me. A smile, a word of encouragement, lending an ear to those who desperately need one. Not only do I love myself, I love others. I swear I can’t pass the homeless without offering them something. I can’t stand to watch those around me in pain. I want to get rich and bless the world. I want to spread love in the darkest of places and look fly doing it. See, my greatest satisfaction does not, in fact, lie in the superficial things I seem to project unto others as my passion in life, but helping others. It’s the best feeling in the world and you helped teach me that; because you loved people the same. Your creativity; your passion for fashion, art, and love has made me, me.
I wish you’d stay out of trouble while you’re in there so I could hear your voice. I wonder how you’re doing all the time. I worry about you. I swear if it weren’t for all the pictures around Mom and Dad’s I wouldn’t even remember what you look like, stranger.
16 to life. It hurts like a bitch to realize you still have a long ways to go. I believe God must have a plan for us all.
I love you big sis.
If I ever had the opportunity to stare into the pairs of eyes who’s lies imprudently revised your innocence; creating a state of cognitive dissonance, they would see the fiery passion that burns beneath the ashen interior of a man who only yearns for the only other being who makes him feel complete, to feel complete.
I’ve always postulated how improbable it was that I would be allowed the honor of calling you baby.
Maybe it was the first time I looked intently into your iris.
And by that I mean your real eyes.
Realize I’m nothing like these guys who lack the self control to stray from deep implicit conversations with your breasts, as they simultaneously fantasize about what lies between your thighs, they claim to be impressed with your intellectual finesse; but in actuality, you wouldn’t be far off to second guess whether their intentions were for your mind or the treasures that you would be wise to keep hidden up under that dress.
Staring with affection into your eyes I could see my reflection, myself on both sides.
In retrospect, I realize how much ironic humor this yields.
Because who would of guessed when I see you now, in all your grace, it feels as if I’m staring at half of me in the face.
My better half in 6 inch heels. My soulmate.
My baby. My phenomenal lady.
You drive me crazy.
When I have the time..