:: XI. Grams

Once again, poetry will be the highlight. In time, I'll share my own poetry — small little snippets here and there of my own words — in the meantime however, the works of other poets, poets I adore, shall do just fine. On that note, the poet of interest is none other than Warsan Shire. A woman. A Black woman. A molder. A creator. A master of words. And among one of my many favorites, this woman, crafts words so magically and artfully together that you are lead to believe that those words are MEANT TO BE together - just as she has rested them next to each other.

It is in her work in which I've found parts of myself that only she has been able to eloquently explain. Finding the words I couldn't find so easily: piecing together the thoughts that flooded the darkest folds and crevices of my mind. She brought light to the love and pain that resides within me: beautiful and lonely, but not alone. So, without further ado, I share the lovely Warsan Shire's Excuses For Why We Failed At Love.

I’m lonely so I do lonely things Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same. You hate women, just like your father and his father, so it runs in your blood. I was wandering the derelict car park of your heart looking for a ride home. You’re a ghost town I’m too patriotic to leave. I stay because you’re the beginning of the dream I want to remember. I didn’t call him back because he likes his girls voiceless. It’s not that he wants to be a liar; it’s just that he doesn’t know the truth. I couldn’t love you, you were a small war. We covered the smell of loss with jokes. I didn’t want to fail at love like our parents. You made the nomad in me build a house and stay. I’m not a dog. We were trying to prove our blood wrong. I was still lonely so I did even lonelier things. Yes, I’m insecure, but so was my mother and her mother. No, he loves me he just makes me cry a lot. He knows all of my secrets and still wants to kiss me. You were too cruel to love for a long time. It just didn’t work out. My dad walked out one afternoon and never came back. I can’t sleep because I can still taste him in my mouth. I cut him out at the root, he was my favorite tree, rotting, threatening the foundations of my home. The women in my family die waiting. Because I didn’t want to die waiting for you. I had to leave, I felt lonely when he held me. You’re the song I rewind until I know all the words and I feel sick. He sent me a text that said “I love you so bad.” His heart wasn’t as beautiful as his smile We emotionally manipulated one another until we thought it was love. Forgive me, I was lonely so I chose you. I’m a lover without a lover. I’m lovely and lonely. I belong deeply to myself .

Always remember: share this work. Share this beautifully, yet simply crafted piece by a woman, a woman of COLOR, who understands that belonging to one's self and loving oneself is a feat many fail to master. It becomes a challenge to share one's self with another should you have no understanding of yourself in solitude. And as Warsan Shire has so wonderfully put, "I'll only have you if you are sweeter than my solitude." Again, share. Re-read. Enjoy. And, well, repeat.

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f o r • e v e n • m o r e . . .