and i laid there, in your sobering arms staring east. taking in the pieces of you adorned upon your bedroom walls, and the pieces of you that were mixed within my fingers and laced between my legs. i could feel your breath on the nape of my neck and your breathing was my own personal lullaby. sometimes i worry about how high we are together, our energies buzz on this freak frequency that can scare me back to the old me. but boy, your words fit so nice between my cheeks when i repeat them, they lift the corners of my eyes and raise the cadence of my voice.
and then we have moments like this. silent and calm. a hum. a mindless moment where all i can think about is how my head fits perfectly in the crook of your shoulder.
Marissa Alexander now faces a 60-year sentence for firing a warning shot into the wall to stop her abusive husband’s attack. Her legal team is working pro bono, but she still owes over $250,000 in legal expenses. The prosecutor, Angela Corey, is the same who couldn’t get a conviction for the murder of Trayvon Martin.
Self-defense against domestic violence does not deserve life in prison.
fuck this shit.
The first time love left, all the sterling silverware in the house tarnished
in a split second and I stayed in bed for two weeks straight.
The landlord eventually stopped calling to collect the overdue rent
and started calling to ask if I was alive instead.
But love’s departure left me a…
and just like an old pair of jeans, i slipped into the crook of your arms and held on for dear life. you felt familiar, our rhythms connected. you have always been the one who takes his time, who reaches for my skin and asks me to wrap myself around you.
these days people kiss too fast but with you…i can still feel your tongue against mine.