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I Ain’t Mad At You

I wonder if I live in a land of nowhere between my youth and my destiny between women I love and men at my feet, between Kenya and Haiti, belonging to neither and yet to no one else. Somewhere between the music and the moments with the ones I love, I am reminded of my place, but not that there is a place to send me but they tell me it ain’t Here! So step Michelle and find a way to stay above the water’s height.

I don’t want to just get by above the water’s edge…i want to live with you above the storm. Take me under or send me above with you into the calm for love, for life.

With a broken heart I wish I could be less inflammatory, less offensive to you but no matter how hard I try I can’t. My truth and my lies seem the same to you. Both bury you in anger at me. My wishes for you and my wishes for myself kill your tongue that bleeds over my face in the night as you raise your body above me. Visions of you seer into my breasts where all my feelings for you clump together and I can’t pick one out without all of them cuming on me. Yet it’s odd how I only tell you bits of them so that you leave me thinking you are perfection. I always thought there would be time though. Time to fix us. Time to say it all. But you knew better. You knew my time was up so you’d let me have it and hit me up with “the truth” leaving before I could speak. Leaving me breathless on the curb where I stood wanting you, wanting to speak and choking on your words like a little bitch without air in my lungs. I wish I could run after you but I have no more pride to ask you to stay. So I sleep with another so that I can’t ever go back. There’s no way I can return now. I gave my self up. Gave myself away in the hope of losing love. I didn’t lose the love but I seem to have misplaced my faith. My head hangs heavy and it weighs low buried in his groin where it wanted to be at your chest, kissing your belly, rolling through your hands.

In time I’ll understand that you were right. “We are just too different.” I’ll know something else too that you never did know. That I was beautiful.

Tonight though I am the whore and you the beauty queen…a happy story for your grandchildren that avoids this horrible mess of false prophets, false gods, and false speech.

Pressed smooth, the warmth from this hand keeps me steady and safe. I wish it woudl gofrom me so that you can see the wound. But something keeps me still as I wish I could weave these words for you.

I shall hate you
Like a dart of singing steel
Shot through still air
At even-tide,
Or solemnly
As pines are sober
When they stand etched
Against the sky.
Hating you shall be a game
Played with cool hands
And slim fingers.
Your heart will yearn
For the lonely splendor
Of the pine tree
While rekindled fires
In my eyes
Shall wound you like swift arrows.
Memory will lay its hands
Upon your breast
And you will understand
My hatred.

G. B. Bennett

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