...But, the city lights you show me are blinding now
And your sweaty grip on my hand is suffocating.
Maybe, I'm not who I thought I was:
A talented kisser.And I don't even know your name,
Or your birthday;
It wasn't important then
But, baby, it is now.When the sun is setting and the only bed I have is yours.
So show me something you haven't before.
Like your favourite colour and band
Instead of green grass and skyscrapers.The world does not make me happy,
You do.
See that, see me
Behind the loving and the teasing.But, maybe, that's a bit too much.
But I cannot give you less,
Just as you cannot give me more.
I am an eternity when you want just an hour.
YOU ARE READING
Dreaming Black Boy; an autobiography
PoetryIn which a millennial black boy discovers the power of his thoughts and the impact of a pen. The consequences thereafter are devastating. A collection of shitty poems and real life experiences narrated from the perspective of a charcoal dreamer.