Searching for the Language

I do not believe that the human language has all of the words that I can use to describe this experience.

I have been searching for the language that screams acceptance, that screams I loved this, that screams this scared the fuck out of me.

I have been searching for the words to reflect how in that moment I felt natural, I felt easy, I could breathe.

Taking off my clothes, taking off yours,kissing your neck and your breasts it all felt so natural.

Hearing you breathe and moan, gasping for air as I took you in my mouth it all felt easy.

Giving you pleasure while expecting none… I felt like I could breathe.

I have been searching for the language that emphasized the ease I felt with your body entwined with mine.

I have been searching for language to describe the fear that I felt the next morning when the high had worn off…

When I had to face my already spoken reality- I am queer I say with confidence; but somehow the language does not seem adequate.

I am queer I say but somehow saying it is different that being it, acting it, living it.

I am queer, but I am afraid of how queer….

I am searching for the language, because this experience freed me, forced me to look inwards and embrace a part of me that was dormant.

A part of me that was locked down by society’s expectations to remain within the expected norm.

To be a female that wanted a male

To be a woman that loved a man, wanted a man and could not envision being with a woman.

But once I awoke my dormant side I was searching for the language to find how being with a woman makes me feel whole.

A side that made me feel alive, fulfilled and giving.

I was searching for the language that described who I am, who I was, who I am going to be and where I will be going.

I have yet to find this language… because when your really look at our language?

You see how the design was never made to encompass me; the queer individual who is confused yet clear about her sexuality.

There was never accepting language for the type of relationship I envision my natural self having…

It was not created for us.

I had to realize that in being who I am… I am creating my own language instead of searching for one that did not exist.


I started seeing someone, and in all the right ways he was right.

He was funny, handsome, had beautiful eyes and even better he had an understanding spirit.

He fell for me really quickly, and instead of beliving him I felt suspicious of his feelings.

I started to question who he really was, what he wanted, why he would want to be to be committed to me so quickly.

I started to interrogate his personality, his choices, his attraction, his care.

He was sweet, caring, patient and all he wanted from me was all I could give him.

Yet in my gut I could not trust him. Even though he was the first man in a long time to pay for my dinner I could not help questioning his motive.

I was numb to the atrraction of this man.

I was numb to the devotion he was showing me

I was numb to the simpleness he was showing me.

I had gotten used to complexity, so I did what I always do and I made things complicated.

I pushed him away, created barries, tests and put up a wall.

Tests that I knew he could not pass, barriers I knew he would never understand because they kept shifting.

Told him that he was not the man for me.

That he could not match my energy, could not match my spunk.

I essentially numbed myself so that the next time I felt anything for anyone?

It would be someone who treated me with less value.

It would be someone I have to chase for attention.

It would be someone who was a “challenge”

it would be someone who would not give me what I want so easily.

It would be someone who would not treat me as nicely.

It would be someone I would have to love more.

I become numb so I could feel less.

Because If I felt less than maybe I would not realize how the things I wanted from him…

Were the things I had from you.


I have been struggling with the emotions I have felt for the past two months.

I have been struggling with why I don’t ever feel enough for anyone.

Why I always feel like I am not worth the fight or worth the effort or worth anything at all…

and I came to the realization that because I am a black woman, I feel unloved by the world.

We are magic, and greatness and so much but yet we are unseen, unheard and unloved.

Unloved by the men who we call our own

Unloved by the women who we fight and support

Unloved by our communities and the system that’s meant to support us.

And sadly sometimes unloved by our own black women.

I feel so unwanted and never enough as a black woman.

I know this isn’t the time to be writing poems about love; but in all the relationships where I have given my all I always received close to nothing at all.

In all the fights I entered the ring for I realized my counterpart was no one where to be found.

I have never felt worth the fight for anyone.

Black woman, black girl, black child. This world will not love you, it will question you, and make you feel unworthy of love.

It will make you wonder if your voice as strong and as proud as it is should be sweetened into a lemonade easy for everyone to digest.

It will make you wonder if your body as big or small or curvy or flat as it is will ever be enough to just be a healthy body.

It will make you wonder if the men you grew up with, you fight with, you support ;will ever see you as anything other than a second tier default rather than the only one they want to be with.

It will make you wonder if our lives and our deaths are of value, and wonder if our intelligence is only a threat and not something to be admired..

This world will not love you this you must love yourself.

You must attach your worth to you, to your standards to your power.

You must not let anyone make you feel like you are not enough.

Black women we are more than enough. We are worth of love, protection, security, defense and we are worth fighting for.

Black Lives Matter. Black Women Matter. Black Men Matter. Black Trans Lives Matter. Black Dreams Matter. Black Children Matter. Black Voices Matter.

My Place

I am often reminded of where I belong.

Not only by you but by him, her, them, us ,myself.

I am told that this is my place. I am not to expand or contract but stay in this particular area.

Every time I think I may have made a stride in the right direction, a movement towards you, towards your feelings, you remind me that this is my place.

My place is a place of confusion.

A place of mixed emotions, constant arguments and endless thoughts.

My place is unsteady,unmarked and untitled.

My place is special on occasion but it is also ordinary everyday.

My place is where you see me, as weak, vulnerable and difficult.

As a woman who can not begin to even understand or love the man who has created her place.

Convenience Store

Somehow I always believed that I was of value to you.

That my convenience was a gift.

That no matter what you would always return to the simple, easy and accessible.

You see like a convenience store I rarely changed.

In fact I believed I was your favorite type of store. No matter how many other stores caught your attention or how many stores you went searching for?

You would always come back.

Because I was comfortable, I knew all of your favorite flavors, I took all of your excuses, and all of your bad choices.

I understood.

I thought my convenience was a value… it made me worthy in your eyes.

That in the end it would mean you were there for me when I needed you to be.

Because you were my favorite store, comfortable, and fit to encompass all of my needs. That we both understood the value of our convenience.

But I forgot that a convenient store no matter how useful, comfortable and accessible is not always worth a visit.

Is not always worth a promise or an apology…

Or even an ounce of respect.

A conviennent store is disposable because they will always be better stores, fancier, high quality and more complicated.

Stores that would ask you for more and which you would choose to give more.

Stores where you would invest less time but value above the countless hours you had spent with me.

Stores that you considered worthy… and above me and my convenience.

Well now I know my value as a convenient store was nothing more than my illusion of my importance to you.

Inspired by a close friend.

Song Title: You

It seems odd, that every song I listen to has the subtitle : YOU.

The song can be about a storm on a summer’s day, and there you are in my storm.

The song can be about finding myself, searching for the key to my own happiness and there you are… Near the key.

The song can be simple lyrics revolving around the beach and finding peace away from the city… and there you are at my beach.

The song can be about moving on and on with my life yet there you are in my path reminding me of a past I long to make a future.

It seems odd that every song I listen to has YOU as the byline. Has YOU in the lyrics, Has YOU in the afterthought.

When will MY music stop being about YOU.

When will storms simply be storms, and the beach simply be a location.

When will my journey of self discovery be about ME and not about YOU.

When shall my music stop to haunt me with memories of You, when shall music simply become music; and no longer be about the love we once shared.

I wait for the day when the song title will change from YOU to ME.

Notes from Author: My favorite songs are hidden in these words and only YOU shall be able to find them.

I wonder

I wonder if you still fall asleep listening to music, If you still tie your hair back; put on that black silk band and cover your dreads for the night.

I wonder if you still sleep shirtless only with boxers on because your body heat is uncontrollable.

I wonder if you still place your laptop on your side desk next to your bed after you’ve completed grinding your nightly blunt.

Then, you carefully choose the right music, sit down on your bed and slowly light up Your blunt… inhaling to release all the tension you’ve felt after your day.

I wonder if you still grind your teeth in your sleep, barely shifting your body throughout the night but taking breathes so deep, noticeable to anyone sharing a bed with you.

I wonder if you ever go to sleep thinking of the last time I slept with you.

Thinking of my smell, thinking of my lips and my eyes. Thinking of how much you miss waking up next to me the way I miss waking up to you.

I wonder…about you and I wonder if you ever think of me.


*Picture belongs to me

Inner Dialogue

I can’t sleep. No matter how much I try I can’t sleep.

I keep thinking of this situation.

The one where I am slowly losing what makes me a solid person.

The one where I am losing my vulnerability.

I have let him in too much my heart says.

He’s too close my heart says.

He’s only there temporarily my mind reminds me.

He’s focused on someone else my heart tells me.

Distance yourself says my mind and heart.

Create that space between him and you before it’s too late.

Don’t let him in any closer.

But he met my friends I say

But he met my family I say

But we talk everyday I say

But he said that when I was ready we would be together.

But is it the truth my heart asks,

But will he give her up my heart asks,

But you know him better than that my mind says.

You know what you signed up for my mind says

You know what you signed us up for my heart says.

I feel anxious, I say.

Anxious because it feels like my control is slipping.

I can’t sleep because of the anxiety I feel after realizing that I was slowly letting you in.

When all along I was preparing for this current moment.

Moment where I saw your true nature and realized that once again I was exposed.

Left open,

Too open.

I was not careful I say

He was what you wanted my heart says.

You were not enough my mind says.

Tug of War.

We do this way to often.

This back and forth.

This tug of war.

I want to stop. I want to be done

I want you to stop pretending

I want you to just say it the way it is.

You aren’t in this tug of war with me.

I am alone.

Fighting for the hear of a man who does not see my worth.

Fighting for the company of a man who does not find me worth his time.

Who does not prioritize me.

Who claims to love me.

I am alone, struggling for this boat to stay afloat.

Hoping that you begin to row with me.

But knowing I will forever row alone.

We do this often.

Pretend it’s you and me.

When in reality its just me.

Holding on to someone who does not even notice I have let go.

She says/ I say- One person two voices.

Tired she says.

I am exhausted she says.

Exhausted and strung out.

I can not do this anymore she says.

Yes you can I say.

You should see our messages, I spend my time reaching out she says.

I spend my time wondering if He even thinks of the time I spend on him she says.

I have my own life she says.

I make time she says.

I reschedule and put things aside for him.

I make a fucking effort she says.

He just stares.

Leaves the messages unread.

He says I have to study.

You know how it is.

He says let’s talk.

He says today is not good how about next week.

He says I will tell you all about it.

He forgets.

He says I miss you.

He says ” You know I really care about you. You know I love you”.

She says do you really?

Okay I will believe you one last time I say

I repeat the same things she did over and over.

He says and She says.

She’s tired. I finally realize I am tired too.

I won’t say it anymore.

I won’t give you(him) time, I wont fucking make time.

I won’t spend time thinking about you(him).

This is my last mention of you(him), WE say.