1. My womanhood.
The night I confused my heart for my hymen and offered it to you, we laid on an air mattress in the living room. It deflated along with my dreams by morning. The sun screaming silently behind North Carolina horizons, and the smoke had cleared. It was clear. I had given you what I knew of woman. Sticky, soft. You came too quickly to understand the depth of this situation. I became a situation. Before I had time to collect myself and place her neatly under my skirt, you had casually moved me to the corner. Where eye contact and conversation were optional. I imagine I was a nice talking piece when you had company visit.
2. Honesty.
A woman's first boyfriend always reeks of her father's habits and holds her like a faceless waist in a basement party. Our lust was a basement party. Sweaty and dark. With secrets trapped behind our innocent bumping and grinding. I always wondered if, She, got confused with My hopes on your tongue. If, She, thought your whispers were for her alone. And how comfortable She was in your arms, with My heart on your sleeve.
3. An explanation.
You and I were worn floor boards in the right places. Warm and quiet. Your heart was always too heavy to acknowledge. And your silence was louder then any sobs I could muster when I heard of your secret departure. You left without warning. No note tacked to my door. I was left loving you, in memories. You could've had the decency to at least, text me. Let me know how our future looked without me.
4. Respect.
You have always been ignorant feet in my temple. A knock banging on the door. Heavy soles wiping dirt each step. You never quite learned how to clean up after yourself. And left apologies in the empty spaces your whirlwind created. You never had the patience to learn the scriptures on my walls. You would've noted that I never wanted to pick the grit of another woman from your fingernails. Never considered myself a saint, willing to forgive your indiscretions. You were just a man I saw God in once. And we deserved to be more then an avoided relationship status change.
5. An orgasm.
Soft hands smelling of incense and Shea butter, you asked more of me then I ever asked of myself. Giving into demands I was forced into a place, uncomfortable. In your world, you are served. So I begged for scraps. Of intimacy and gratification. Concubine to your regal dreams. Your rhetoric merely double talk for your selfishness. But you forgot. That a Queen doesn't have to recieve blessings on her knees.
Yeeeeessssssss
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