He's completely imperfect and no one is ever sure if he is destined to change.
His skin is light, like my ex-girlfriend's. They both share they same complexion of fresh honey from a beehive.
He talks a good game and plays an even better one out on the court.
His scent is attractive yet, mortifying like the marijuana he smokes.
His lips when combined with mine give off an oxytocin that makes me fall in lust all over again.
He said I was his "girl for life", or whatever that means, but in reality does that title really mean a damn thing?
His presence makes me feel warm and overjoyed, like when my grandmother makes me fresh chocolate chip cookies but it also makes me feel pain and hatred, like when you end up dropping that last delicious cookie.
Him.
YOU ARE READING
Sincerely, A Black Girl.
PoesíaBased on all of my struggles growing up as a black girl. From my "nappy-haired" chronicles to struggling everyday trying to make a way in the hood...
