I. Live. By. This.
shoot, I’d take a white-run one. my behind just wants to write. like, actually write. not just rant and repeat (which are the poems folk think are cool).
been reading a lot more, so I’m curious as to how certain authors may have influenced my writing.
my behind just needs structure, overall.
usually I’d respond with, “I miss you too, but I cannot be with you”, “I love you too, and I am not going to be with anyone else.”
now, I have no responses. shit, I even deleted the text. once I feel that there is nothing to say, for me, that always means I am over it.
our relationship was an emotionally abusive up and down, on and off whirlwind for the past two years. the main reason I kept him around because I felt that no one could ever love me, so why not deal with him, and he fulfilled me sexually. NO ONE before him has.
now, I feel that I will take what I have learned and apply the lessons to loving myself.
I am not gonna lie and say that it doesn’t get lonely, especially when you slept next to a person almost nightly for two straight months, but sometimes your brain knows what your heart does not want to believe.
always follow your head. heart can steer you wrong most of the time.
The gorgeous Rwandan-Canadian model, Happy Umurerewa
Photographed by Collin Gaudet
my body re-learning alone.
my body re-learning how to love itself.
the joy of drool on my own pillow.
enjoying folding the sheets that don’t smell like anyone else.
forgetting conversations about his wife,
his lover when I am gone.
getting over the fact that the girl he talks to is prettier than me
understanding that I am my own kind of pretty
me knowing that a man between my legs don’t solidify the fact
me knowing he would not have loved me more if I fucked him
the breath of clear conscience
the pennies kept in pocket.
the save. the save. the save.
my own glory. coming into fruition.
the first steps to a lifelong self-love.