I remember the days we didn’t have lights. House full of candles. I just feel like it was never stuff that we couldn’t handle.
Just existing, not living. It’s all you know right? So whose fault is it?
You judge me off the name on my resume, you judge me if I have dreads, you judge me if I have my natural hair moisturized and free all over my head.
I pictured us in our house cooking and cleaning. I pictured us on vacations and holiday celebrations.
I wasn’t able to fully give you all of me because pieces of me were scattered in my past.
You like my pictures better because it gets straight to the point? My brown eyes tell a better story?
Do you know how bad that hurts to watch a man you built throughout the years, show what he learned with another woman?