“I cried when I realized he had lived his whole life a complete lie.”
© Aisha- Nicole 2015
It’s not the amount of times you say it,
Only when you do it
If love is a game,
They must be a loser,
One heart will suffer,
Left to ask questions that have no answers,
Screaming at silent white walls,
Reciting and rewriting every love letter,
Cursed to do the dirty work,
Left behind to investigate blurry cues of when love bid adieu,
One person will always suffer,
And the sad reality,
The truth to this game,
Is we all strive to be the winner,
Because losing at love,
Is never an easy game-
I sat there,
And hoping that old bruises wouldn’t alarm you,
Old scars spoke too soon,
Singing a sad tale of years I spent searching for you,
The latest bruise still wept,
And the band aid I had used and reused,
Slid off as I,
With fragmented sentences,
Tried my best to explain why barring my soul,
In its entirety,
Had become just as hard as childbirth,
Just as scary as facing the barrel of a gun,
And just as empty as the pursuit of fame and happiness,
At the end of my monologue,
In between a shield of tears,
I waited for an answer,
Fully prepared to hear the worst,
You drew in closer,
And gave me a blanket,
The sweetest gesture I could ever know,
To a girl who had just bared her naked soul.
©Aisha Nicole 2013
Dear Mr. Right,
Hollywood never did a bigger disservice
Than the day they sought out to recreate loves true purpose-
As they sold prepackaged ideas,
Neatly bound in banging bodies and sexy scenes,
The definition of love would forever be challenged,
And who am I to say butterflies don’t exist,
And yes, warm bodies are hard to resist,
You are to blame,
For thousands of relationships have been slain in your name,
As little girls too young to even spell their name,
Engaged in early fairytales,
Too young to know love,
They sought her carbon copies,
In alleys, wild parties and cramped up bedrooms,
With boys who aren’t yet men,
And as passion rages,
Forget her side effects: regret and possible death,
Death of young innocence,
And doctor’s visits in white washed walls,
With lab reports that immediately kill her joy-
Dear Mr. Right,
If we only what love truly meant,
We would no longer have use for you
I think I’m gonna write a novel based on my Transit journey’s in the city.
No trip is ever the same nor is the waiting period for the next bus.
The only difference about this escapade from my many others was my sister tagging along for the ride. We had a double date with two local dark and delicious men. My date preferred being called Turtle Mocha and my sister was chanting it up with hot cocoa ( he’s more of a homebody). All four of us had a great time and they were occasional bursts of laughter from our corner. We didn’t care though, good company is hard to find and it’s even harder to spend quality time with one another. The dates were amazing and my sister and I left very pleased.
Sadly I cannot share the same sentiment with our bus ride.
They were many characters on the bus ride and I was a bit tempted to take candid pictures of them. I feel that this would better illustrate my story however, if you have a vivid imagination like I do, I believe you will be fine.
Main Character: Leather Man.
He walks onto the bus, phone in hand and speaking voice at an all time high. I approve the freedom of speech I love it. I may even possibly get it tattooed on my foot one day, however, I respect other people as well. Leather man was in a deep and heated argument. From the drops of sweat that raced down his face I would estimate it had already been a 30 minute battle. After some large heaving and shuffling of a sketch backpack he continues his argument:
“OH. YOU DON’T TRUST ME?? (I’m assuming she didn’t because his voice only got louder)
“GIRL I DON’T HAVE A STD! BUT NOW I’M GONNA GET ONE. YOU DON’T TRUST ME!
He got off the bus at the same bust stop as us, and I couldn’t help think why he would air his dirty laundry. Perhaps he wanted us all to know he didn’t have a std. Either way-it was a very awkward moment. Thankfully my ear hustling skills are that of a ninja and I can avoid eye contact and listen discreetly. Although it was rather easy because leather man didn’t know how to whisper.
This was only a snap shot of the few conversations I heard which were rather sketchy. Of course I laughed to myself and realized that humans are an interesting species.
Before I forget I can’t fail to mention that we waited over an hour for our bus back- in the cold?! I’m on the verge of writing a letter to someone! I just have to find out which bald man I have to write it to.
Hope all is warm and cuddly in your lives.