about time time i handed him the hot mug of tea without a napkin
not like i wanted his hand to burn not like i cared if it did
about the sex i had with a husband who wasn't mine
like my freedom meant we were both free
about driving across the 10 after too many glasses of wine
like i get to play with someone else's life
i know there is always a way to let go my pain without causing another scar
i know that i have done things that i cannot just sorry away
but i am
about things i am not ready enough to say in a poem
because words
because what are words
because words will be spoken over my ashes
words about the angel you made me out to be
but none of us are perfect baby
especially not me
Black ass poems. Black ass stories. Black ass art. Black ass life. Black ass love. Black ass hate. Black ass parenting. Black ass depression. Black ass mania. And other stuff too.
Really felt the rhythm and the pain, the authentic redemption and rhe love but no regret because your life is the poem sisterwoman, Yeah I love it.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing. “. . . but none of us are perfect. . . “
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