Six foot one. Dark skinned. Beard? Long.
Intellectual conversations. White smile. Head game? Strong.
I never had a type. But, now I definitely do.
When we first met, I didn’t think it was you.
I may be ‘corny’ writing love poems in books,
But this is where I hide whenever I feel ‘shook’.
My heart is still closed but my arms are wide open,
while your body is between my thighs strokin’.
Nice guys finish last and you were never first.
Couldn’t even tell by the way I ripped that shirt…
In the morning? Coffee, no sugar, no cream.
Careful not to hurt yourself playing with the steam.
They say when it rains it pours and where there’s thunder, there’s a storm.
So be thankful for the power and courage to return to the norm.
Forever second-guessing and my mind was always torn,
seemingly lost like in October’s adventure through a maze of corn.
Asking: what is the purpose? What for? Why was I born?
Private thoughts exposed, shining lights on me lorn.
His face then beamed through and he sworn,
That the clouds were claiming my old ways. I mourned.
She tried to shame me for my big butt, lips and thighs.
Then went to the Doctor’s office to up her size.
“Can I touch it? Is this your hair?” – ‘Yes’ I lied.
“I wish my hair looked like that.” She sighed.
Years later I pic’d it out and she came by.
She pet me like a dog and I gave her the side eye.
“Nice hair Angela Davis, but that ‘ain’t fly’;
you look like you shout for a living and march on the side.”
Now she used perm rods and excessive treatment to clone the style.
‘So did you forget to brush while you blow dried?’
“No. This is actually like, high fashion.” she smiled.
Forever suffering from multiple delusions
Constantly drawing unrealistic conclusions
Always bleeding without a sense of inclusion
Please pardon my heartfelt intrusions
A woman of many words and emotions
Should dock her boat and cease reeling from the ocean
A woman like that should ignore the notion
The notion of love for which she shows devotion
She should heed my warning and hide
For the sorrow secrets of love are snide;
Hidden while fishing, behind the tide,
For love is an inequitable bumpy ride