Mama always warned me about the boys with depth-less eyes. The boys with a red beating heart that were kept youthful and living by the crushing of another's adolescent life. But Mama forgot to warn me about the boys with eyes that burned bright like a fire. Boys with stars for eyes-something I saw everyday and believed I could trust-but, in the end, they would send off solar flares that would melt off my finger prints and cover me in ash; causing me to lose my identity.
Mama warned me about the boys who would break my heart because they couldn't love me enough. The ones whose hearts were so shriveled and tender that they could only care for one thing: themselves. The boys who kissed with open eyes and were overly passionate for everything except what really counted; they would take my breath away for all the wrong reasons. But Mama forgot to warn me about the boys, in which, I would shatter my existence by cracking their world. These were the boys whose memories would haunt my soul, ghosts tethered to my mind, as a curse for not being able to love them back. The boys who were the midnight moon's reflection; In which one touch of my finger could send out a thousand ripples that distorted the original golden portrayal. The boys who I couldn't love but cared about deeply. The ones who I tried to shield from a breaking heart, but in the process, ended in the shattering of two.
Mama warned me about the boys that would hold me too hard and too much. The ones that chocked my fingers and stole my privacy. The boys whose stares' studied my movements, even when it was just the two of us, and never let me leave their sights when it wasn't. The boys who would constantly snake their arm around my waist when I went on dates just to prove I was 'theirs'. But Mama forgot to warn me about the boys who'd rarely hold me at all. The ones who make me forget what another person's skin felt like and left me craving human affection. The ones who caused me to hold myself before I fell asleep because he hadn't hugged me in months. The boys who'd shake another woman's hand or fist bump their friend but never hold my hands. The boys who forget I'm made of strong bones, and a beating heart, and a fragile mind; not silver metal, and multiple buttons, and no human emotions whatsoever. The boys who parallels me to a human robot with no programming for intimacy.
Mama warned me about all types of men, but mama never could prepare me for you.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"I know that sometimes for people, I feel like too much; But let me kiss away the phantom pain that the scars remind you of, Let me kiss the burns on your hands, From when you touched the burning fire within my soul. Let me show you that yes, I am...
