It is crippling,
to know when love is not recipricoated,
When the balances become shifted,
One heavier than the other,
Love weighted in the formation of drinks,
Yet there is more wine being formed from broken grapes,
Then there are grapes placed into mouth,
I wonder when the ignition become faulty,
Which day will I stand to draw the line?
This crippling feeling is similar to that of an electric bolt running down your chest,
Your heart pulls slowly,
As if pulling a lever to flush out the contents of all that you put in,
Lavatory couldn’t do justice to all the shit that will rupture,
I am in hesitance to understand why,
Where does this lack of love come from?
Is it within me?
Do I lack being loved?
A deficiency maybe from birth, had my mother not loved me,
Did I mimic it into my subconscious,
I break it down,
Every part of my body within its own compartment,
I wonder what I have to do to curate something he loves,
And how absurd that I would lose my own identity to please a man,
My own insides wondering why I am not enough,
Yet I am a Goddess,
One who wears green,
and has butterflies growing out of her hair,
Nails glittered in blue like that of bluebells in spring,
I am a Goddess aren’t I?
With a swing in her hips, and the heat of Pakistan in her skin,
My feet a trampoline as I shake my body in motion,
Do I not respect myself?
I am a Queen,
I will never degrade my being,
Not with the name that my Father gave me,
If he loves an image, and an idea,
Then he is false in his ways,
No lover of mine will not accept me in my beauty,
Will not accept me in my fiercesnness,
Will not accept me in all my brown,
No lover of mine will deny my intellect,
Spiritual hands intertwining,
I am dating a charlatan,
A man who seems to have lied to me,
And I let him,
As I fell straight into his heart,
Left my heart on my sleve after I hid it so many times,
The universal knowing of women is something that can never be denied,
If he desires image,
Then image is all that he can gain,
Woman of Brown Gardens,
Of sisters and mothers,
He will never know what heavens fruit he will be giving up,
These legs of mine don’t flirt with everyone,
He will never understand whats hidden under every kiss I place on his eyelids,
Every touch glazed in admiration,
But to him I am only a passing object,
A mere insect on a wall,
observe it and let it pass,
I have entered the realm of “too much” women,
and I am here to stay,
I am happy to remain seated in this seat,
I am not “enough” for such a charlatan,
then so be it,
May the lord have mercy on my soul,
because despite knowing all this,
this pain is going to kill me,