Hit the 'X' When He Calls

His muddy water irises drilled cavities into my vision as he confessed that his full-sized mattress transformed into a California king as his longing festered since he - unlike me - never went to sleep with his heart feeling as empty as his bed had been for the past year following when he failed to keep his bed when we formed a union. 

Craving a silencer to his head, he believes he can cease his thoughts by painting his worries red, lust on his lips but pure blood on his hands, so he stains whatever comes into his contact. Deprivation nestled into the bags under his eyes, heaving as he sighed about his ignorance of how to repair the wreckage that recklessly trails behind him. So, he crash lands on my peace, assuming my forgiveness would guide him to answers he needed - desiring to unlock doors in my eyes that I nailed shut through my chest, revoking his access to run through my precious temple smelling like outside.

I grew tired of wondering if he planned to stay inside or if he would stray away to roam along the sunrise, as he built a habit out of walking in and out of the house, as his momma warned him against as a child, while I desperately fought to keep my cool. Even though I wanted to tell him to find his way home before the streetlights, I could merely hope he would return in time to see the sunset as my golden rain sleek melanin dives into black silk sheets smelling like oil sheen and shea butter - my heritage dripping onto the pillow making me feel blacker than my daddy in the summertime. 

Our love hardly lasted until the summertime. But as the winter approaches, I ignite amber embers, so the orange hue of the candlelight illuminating my skin swirling with the fragrance of apple cider incense and the evenness in my autumn temperament to remind you I exist in each sunset. I used my likeness to entrance you with my warm embrace, hugging you tighter than a support brace but giving you space and understanding to walk at your own pace. Yet, he abused my kindness and mustered up the audacity to return and tell me he did not mean to think my love suffocated him. He accidentally called me crazy but learned that maybe there was truth in the phrase, “It’s me, not you.” 

Wholeheartedly, he began to believe all the times he could recall my critiques, etching an outline of the potential I planted in his spirit. Self-improvement transforms into a daunting task when he has to reflect on himself by himself because he always feared loneliness - so he kept extra company around to avoid himself. He has been lurking on my pages observing how I do not seem crazy with my new love who bears my name. I look so deep in love with myself, and it made him remember he, at times, could be vain. An image of happiness in my glow that he has never seen shine as bright because he used to think I was the sun, but if I could get brighter, that must make me the cosmos or an eternal beautiful star shower while he remains a black hole. Begging, he asks me to fill a void and shrink myself to fit his mold, but I refuse to be your organ donor since I just built myself again to be whole.