The Art of Disappearing: Part II

The Art of Disappearing: Part II

Photos albums with our names

stained on stiff pages

Our faces plastered all over

Slick covers

The smell of sweet carrots

And fried grease,

Ice-cream on old stomping grounds

Hood stores turned into co-working spaces

And cute cafes

The mark of gentrification

times changing

Yet our love remains the same

Laughter in the middle of

that street in front of Emerald’s Pub

“Have you gotten home alright” texts

“I miss you, when can I see you?”

Chanting and singing Gods name moving

Orange flames on white candles

Mahogany tables scented with

the aroma of love, laughter, and remembrance

Sinking into the cushions of my blue couch

Tears streaming down flushed cheeks

Green eyes stare back at me

With unconditional presence

I bear witness to being cherished

By those worth loving

Worth remembering

Dancing in the stories

Of my old prayers

Yes

It’s a gift to be remembered

by those

Who could never forget

The Art of Disappearing

The Art of Disappearing

A cup of tea neglected on the kitchen counter

Waiting for the scorching heat to cool down so that

I might sip from its contents

Selfishly, the tea stands as

My longing to be comforted

Yet it sits—

Three hours later

In a cold heap

honey sitting at the bottom of the cup

I’ve forgotten

What it feels like

To be warmed from the inside out

Just as those have forgotten

What it feels like

To be loved by me

And maybe that’s Gods blessing

Allowing myself to be

Forgotten

Reflections on Governors Island

In this world full of mirrors
How clearly does one see themselves
Entertaining copious illusions,
Praying to find comfort by fostering absentmindedness

As clocks tick—
Seconds turning to hours,
Hours to years
Treading closer to ultimate demise
Oneself is a testament to the deaths that occur each moment

This endless search for innocence
In cloves of recollections
But when peering deeply
Reality is none were ever innocent

One can suppose,
Maturity is a shattering of illusions
Calling the soul to witness the horrors of itself
In crystal clear mirrors

Not Digestible

I am not digestible

Not sweet tea with

Four cups of sugar and a squeeze of lemon

Helping the medicine go down

She’s full bodied gin

Swallowed with a hymn and a prayer

Praying the demons don’t win

Full bodied convulsions

Chanting to avoid shattering into pieces prematurely

Leaving me high and dry

A trip cancelled just as the tickets were purchased

Seats booked

An orgasm right there…no damnit right there

Beads on foreheads bubble as we seek to match

Tempos shifting in rushed, frantic pace

Impatience snatching sweet release, disappointment on my face

Brimming with wanton in a cup overflowed

Where the fuck is the ecstasy I’m owed?

Not digestible

Not here to soothe brows with

Gentle balming caresses

Cute little nothings that leave my body hallowed and wanting

Screaming to be filled

Please fill me up with something

Not meant for overconsumption

Pick my flowers intentionally,

or the thorns might bite

Blood drops like sweet reparations

For raping my petals

To steal my light

Treat me delicately

Hold on to subtle curves with a feather light touch

Before the dove takes flight again

Experience is the teacher

That reminds us

How bittersweet moments are

Before they reach their end

I’m not here to be digested.

Nor consumed

Ask those who have passed by

Memorials for all the empty rooms

Forsaken without my presence.

Never able to be digested.

But I—

I’m the perfect size. Perfect shape

Perfect volume. Perfect taste

Absolutely holy. Utterly whole

Goddess woman with a whole lot of soul

Not swallowed hastily

but sipped in reverence

Eyes closed, head tipped back

In drunken presence

Frighteningly ethereal. Deeply divine

Internal medicine

So irrevocably moving

It became my deliverance

The Bittersweet End

It’s odd

Odd really

Old pictures resurface in places I’d thought I’d kept hidden

Was it unconscious? Perhaps intentionally

You know time beckons us to transform swiftly

I’ve sowed my seeds, watched the fruit grow

Eaten Gods blessings, adapt as seasons come and go

Made new friends, made love with new lovers

Learned new tricks to show both under and outside of the covers

Created a new self, one who knows her worth—

What does she want? Who is she?

Lets explore her joys and let go of old hurts

This ole girl approaching 30—you start thinking about life more clearly

“Let’s pool together finances, create a career that feels good and affords us stability”

There’s no love now that could ever make me forget about me

Clearer on who I am more than I’ve ever been

Peace makes me hesitant to let just any ole person in

So clear, yes that I am…until I saw your smile

Wow…That’s something I hadn’t seen in a while

It looks different than how it used to be, more genuine, more relaxed, more…free

Different than how it was when it was with me

Listen—yes I’m grateful that time has healed our wounds, made us stronger

But isn’t it odd how time has moved connections that don’t sustain themselves any longer?

And that distance; it doesn’t take away the love in my heart

It’s stays as if no time has been lost, with no end and no start

And what an odd place to be—looking at who I am compared to who we were

But love exists beyond time and truly does endure

How bittersweet to recognize change that brings both loss and movement so swiftly

Even more bittersweet to acknowledge that loss happened to be the thing that set us free

I will love you always truly, my love does soar

But space has taught inevitably to love myself more.

Thank you for the lessons and all the sweet memories

Thank you for the blessings that brought me to clarity

Love stands as a reflection of God’s eternity

Love will always be a reflection of the Divine within me