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Decisive thoughts streamline through eyes focused on another soul. Its all in the visual. If you could see it –>it’d be thick transparent– oxymoron? Understand me… If you could feel it –> a warm hug or ever so soft flannel throw. If you could smell it –> something like cinnamon sugar. If you could hear it –> the words of this poem out loud. And taste? Taste is the part of the ‘honeycomb there, oh how I love his hair.’ HA, I could never do it like Maya. But if you do hear this poem from my mouth, hopefully you’ll also be able to see the smile permeating from my face. Taking me back to the beginning stages. When I was a jit and needed daddy for my scarred knee OR when I was a girl and everyone said that I was ugly, OR when I was a teenager and insecure, OR when I was a young lady emotionally scarred by those boys, OR when I became a woman and kept that loneliness inside of me.

When I met you I became that woman who wasn’t shy to smile, loved on all sides, stronger than one, cared for, wept less, and loved more. When I met you I became that little girl all over again, and while you have restored what was broken, I’m right back where I started. Too young to be afraid, too happy to be sad, too loved to hate, and too cared for not to care back. Too naive to realize you’ve taken me back to where I started. Vulnerable.

Published in Personal Poetry


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