Thursday, December 31, 2009

The Hardest Part About Love.

Let me make one thing clear.
No, I am not the 'clingy' type and
No, I do not NEED your attention.
You just so happened to be there
So I accepted.
Your arm wrapped around my waist,
Your hards searching for the gaps
In between my fingers
So you could enlace yours with mine.
Your fingertips perfectly touching the middle
Of my palms
You invited yourself into these thoughts.
I never asked to be filled but you
Spilled your lyrics into me anyways leaving
No cracks in between my attempts to tell you to rewind
Cuz those words left permanent wounds where
Scars had already claimed residency
And I can't say that I didn't enjoy it because I did.
But you fail to understand what happened
See, I have this box full of men that have
Touched and left.
Leaving their fingertprints frozen into me
Encrypted like code
If love had a diary, you could read it on my skin
Like braile with your eyed closed.
This box, with the image of men dented
From my unaswered questions
Starting from when his
16 year old hands touched my 9 year old body
Causing internal bruising from losing all of my innocence
I understood the definition of sex
Before I knew what love was.
Kissing away my youth at the age of 15 when my
Virginity was stolen by a man who claimed he loved me
Crying blank tears of regrets
And now I'm trying forget everything my heart loves to remember.
See touching is the hardest part about love.
It is not about fucking.
That is easy.
Easy to forget my last name and to swallow my fathers
Words claiming no man can love me more
Easy to close the door on my common sense
But it is the opening part that they always forget
To mention in fairy tales
And no, I didn't expect you to be my prince charming
But damn.
I am tired of adding names to this venemous list
Tired of being kissed and it be meaningless
Playing guilty when really I am innocent
And I don't blame my missing pieces on you
I was broken far before your name became existant
But you have stained the back of my neck with your breath
And now the gaps in between my fingers are
Beginning to miss your sweet entanglment
And that would have never happened if
You had not snaked your way down my arm
To dig into realms that were never yours to explore
I've endured much worse so please don't think
That this is your fault
But that night you poured salt into fresh wounds
Without even asking if I needed a bandage
Cuz you were so concerned with leaving that
You didn't realize I was bleeding
Wondering how many women have been imprinted with your scent
And like the rest, you left.
And I refuse to chase senseless men.
So the next time you want to go around tangling fingers
You might wanna ask where her hands have been.

Love, Tianamonique


Shandra E...*the misses said...

people think I'm crazy when i say "hand holding" is sometimes hard to do...but i guess we both know the hardest thing about Love is touching...making it even harder to be TOUCHED...

tianamonique--* said...

yes! it is so true! thank you my dear. =]

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oNe mAn gAng said...

I love this...that's all, I just love it.

Miss Sara said...

I GET this
Becuz my innocence was STOLEN @ such a young age,
I, too, learned about sex before love...
Love? What is that...
Not only the fingers am I entangling, but the lessons I've learned, the pieces that have been missing…
This is powerful!

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Christina said...

Wow! I just stumbled by your blog and WOW. This poem is amaaaaazing! Elicits so many emotions and imagery. Very good, dear. Very, very good!