you are not a means to an end
you are an end within yourself.
the deeper this understanding roots itself in your heart,
the more you’ll treat others as an end within themselves as well.
you are not a means to an end
you are an end within yourself.
the deeper this understanding roots itself in your heart,
the more you’ll treat others as an end within themselves as well.
I.
you were never too much love–
i just feared i wasn’t enough to be what you were asking for
without even parting your lips.
II.
my energy felt your inquiries all the way from the fifth dimension
asking me to love the parts in you i hadn’t even loved in myself yet;
to heal the parts of you i hadn’t even dared to heal in myself yet–
and it wasn’t for lack of trying.
but, in part, for lack of knowing what parts fo me needed care:
where my soul needed feeding, watering, and sunshine,
before i could pour those same things into you.
III.
i’m sorry you were collateral damage in my unhappiness
you deserved more, and someday, you will find within yourself
the love you wanted that i couldn’t readily give.
is there a return policy on fucks given?
if you gave too many
can you get them back
with no receipt?
i wonder if the brown of your skin
tastes like honey when it slides
off the honeycomb and into eager mouths
if it explodes with candied sweetness
subtle and shocking at the same time.
does your kind of brown
wear itself out with its beauty?
or does it just stay pretty
effortlessly?
I.
if i were courageous,
i’d allow the weight of my heart to roll out of my mouth
onto the plush pinkness of my tongue,
to flatten it smooth with luscious memories of what was
thrown together with the risky hopes of what could have been.
if i were brave i would call you up
letting crocodile tears rush down my face in hot, unplanned frenzies
while i tell you all the ways i love you and can’t stop thinking about you.
but.
now isn’t the time.
fear has kept you frosty, child.
sick of trying to mend old wounds
with 80 proof and grandma’s hymnals
you opted instead for icicles
figuring they’d be enough to stop the profuse bleeding
brought on my trauma’s heavy hand.
you thought a cold heart would kill off
even the slightest hint of pain;
theorized that hurt could heal if cryogenically frozen.
instead, in the process of thawing yourself out
you found out the pain incubates
evolving and giving birth to something entirely different,
something you don’t even recognize as what you tried to freeze out.
if you can, go easy as you warm up.
don’t turn the heat up too high
or you’ll break.
it’s cute that we still try to fill in each other’s cracks before they show
that even when we call ourselves being vulnerable,
delicately cut and splayed open for the other to see,
we still wear a sheet to cover the parts we’ve tasted and find most unsavory,
as if just-enough-brokeness still keeps you sexy enough for love.
i grew up assimilation
blend till you break
erase it all–
those kinks, that slang
that pride in your name–
no (B)lack cause it’ll crack
under the weight of white salvation.
or will it?
I.
i know what i’m capable of.
i know i don’t mind streching to fit inside the holes of your heart
contorting my body to knit together your scars
i know i am capable
maybe more than usual
to make myself mutable to your needs
willing constantly to fall at your feet
but when you accidently drop me
i shatter.
II.
i’m not quite whole again
or maybe i am, and that’s what’s scary.
that i didn’t need you as bad as i thought i did.
that it’s more than alright,
actually preferred, to be independent.
III.
but i miss you as my compelmentary
and baby, i just want you to lay with me
and enjoy the sanctuary of each other’s company.
but i understand if you ain’t ready.
now more grown up than i used to be
i’m willing to wait patiently.
hit me up when you’re ready.
i will show up
everyday
open-hearted
just for you.
i would gently pluck the moon like a flower out of the meadows of the night sky,
present it on a shining silver platter
just for you.
i would sew the stars into a personal constellation
with the threads of your hopes and dreams stitching together each piece,
weaving them into a beautiful garment
just for you to wake up in
or to throw on like a favorite jacket
or lace up like a long-loved pair of boots.
all of this and more for you I would do gladly,
you don’t even have to ask.