Even if it kills me,
I’ll be the one to rip the truth from your body in the same violent way you spent lazy Sundays inside of mine.
Because I swore on tombstones and eyelashes that I’d become the woman you always wanted until you unconsciously taught me that the correct way to throw a punch was by intertwining fingers with veins then simply letting go.
My blood hasn’t flowed the same since.
And while you asphyxiated my name under the bodies of other women,
I begged God that if love truly existed, to tear out my heart and show it to me because only fools believe what they can’t see.
My face is a page turning novel of our history and people cast their pity on me like spit because I should’ve been brave like you, if only I were brave like you…
Waiting for you to love
me is like fighting sleep.
and half alive I prop memories
under my overweight eyelids
and search for you in blades of grass,
in the rising of the moon.
You loved me once.
I’ll kiss the phrase off your
lips to prove it,
even if it kills me.
-erica jeudy ©