She Is Coming Undone.

Her dark eyes have dampened.

And her hands are now clenched in fists

Her smile and crooked

And flood with accusations she never deserved

Fingers burned from touching distant memories

Arms broken from reaching for stars

That were never aligned quite right

Her edges are weakened from being

Pushed through sandpaper eyes

She cried in dark corners

Writing her blues on white walls

Creating a perfect sky of dreams that never came true

Her hinges loose from men

Opening and closing her doors and

Misplacing the key; love has left her half empty

But this is not about love.

This is about change

The rearrangement of webbed promises inscribed on false tongues

Blank thoughts serving as bandages

Keep together the broken pieces

Her fringes are being to fray

And with days coming and good

Time is almost impossible to grasp

Counting moments with dead rose pedals on lonely night

Goodbye's have become as frequent as yesterdays

But it was tomorrow that never came

Placing the blame on the footsteps of a god with no name

The frame of her existence being bent backwards

Her character twisted around assumptions

Leaving her soul broken and dying

Trying to come up with complicated answers

To the simple question of, why.

Her laughter has been stained into living room carpets

Along with fallen tears and unsaid regrets.

She never prepared herself for this.

Spinning herself dizzy, contemplating every crucial detail

Ever possible factor in this messed up equation

This complex situation

Failing to provide any type of solution

Her voice has sunk deeper in pools of melancholy songs

Her throat aches from swallowing glass

And as time passes her soul collapses.

She is coming undone.

Running to numb the feeling of being still.

Running from a cold sun.

Because she has realized that

Nothing is as it seems

So she is deferring

Like Langston's dream

But if you see her, tell her to stop.

Because soon she'll run out of breath.

And in these times breathing

Is the only reality she has left.

Love, Tianamonique.

Lay With You

Sometimes I just want to lay with you.

Because days are busy and hurried

And sometimes I forget how to breathe

So I need your arms to remind me

Of how to feel

So sometimes I just want to lay with you.

Let the words write themselves upon our palms

Let them entertwine

We could write sonnets with our silence

Forget our assignments

My back to your chest

Your right leg on my left

Your breath on my neck

I just want to lay with you

Because I spend all day move

Around corners, around orders

And I tend to forget how it feels to be still

I don't want to have to tell you my heart is aching

I don't want to hear the sound of promises breaking

Making love is fine; but sometimes I just want to lay there.

Fully clothed.

No makeup.

Vulnerable.

Eyes closed.

Hold me until my secrets unfold.

My heart is cold and your arms are the only warmth it knows

No words to be spoke

I know, it's difficult to find time to be alone

But if we could hold on to the hours, the minutes, the seconds,

I reckon we could be free of our insecurities.

I just want to lay with you.

In solitude.

In our purest of forms.

Lay with you until the sheets are torn.

Place wisps of bliss on the small of my neck

Because laying with you is better than sex

I just want to embrace your essence

And inhale your sweet scent without the interruption of nonsense

Lets just lay here and pretend as though we are empty

And fill each other with lovely ecstasy

I just want to lay with you.

Until I forget how to move.

Love, Tianamonique.

MIYM #16

These are only words.

Script from a twisted wrist

A hand that's been kissed

Words flowing from burnt fingertips

[I've always loved and touched too much]

But these are just words.

Being swallowed and ignored

And possibly rightfully so

Words, evaporating in blank eyes

Disappearing in artistic skies

Numb tongues wrapping around moonlit sighs.

Inhaled the experience and exhaled metaphoric lies.

Watch them rise through cracked throats

And break in mid air like neglected smoke

These are just words.

The ones I never spoke.

Love, Tianamonique

*I know I don't post as much as I used to. Some things are just meant to be kept to myself...

He that lives in a glass house must not throw stones.

I had a house.
And in that house there were things.
Things with memories encrypted onto them.
There were chairs we sat and laughed in.
Photographs, I adored you.
Books we never read.
Walls with words unsaid.
The front door always remained locked,
I never wanted to leave.
The shelves held all the lies you spilled
Around our wooden floors that always
Creaked when you came around
Sound proofed our bedroom so you did not hear
Me scream when I found her scent underneath
Your pillow.
The hearts on the window from the fogged mornings.
Mornings I could not sleep from the nights you
Pretended to love me.
Stained red lipstick smeared across buttoned shirts;
I always ignored.
Everytime you would return to me with a little less than you left with.
The warnings were deafening but I covered my ears
With your hands and begged you to make
The sirens stop, and you would kiss my cheek
And just as innocently I would sweep away
Her footprints in the doorway.
The wine bottles spilled everytime you left;
Drinking to the nights alone, in our bed.
This house became a knife and I always bled when you fled,
Cutting deeper, the nights longer, the mornings colder,
Wrapping myself in your bedsheets; wondering how it was you could hold her,
When you had me. Sadly, our happy home became a
Vacant hole and I walked the halls and of what was.
The chairs were broken, the pictures on the walls
Were crooked and the windows shattered.
This is what our love had become.
Broken.

I sold that house; to a woman who didn't mind the mess.
She said nothing could compare to the tangles in her chest.
When she stepped into the doorway, I could almost hear her sadness
Burst inside of her.
Her scent was familiar.
Her red lipstick blared.
She pushed my hand away when I went to give her the key.
Opened her purse and pulled out her own.
I smiled and left that house.

And I built myself a home.