Motherly Advice.

Published March 12, 2014 by v.g.

I never was the best at telling my mama when I was sick;
her motherly instincts just had a knack for knowing.
So when I walked into my house on the day I met you,
she knew, and she asked, “What’s his name?”

I replied with a mumble and went upstairs.
Every day since then, she’d ask, “Anything new?”
And I figured she was talking about you by the lift of her eyebrow.
But every day, the answer was always the same.

One day, though, she sat me down in the kitchen.
She told me how when she was younger, she was in the same predicament.
There was this boy, but she never dared make a move.
The way they tiptoed around their emotions made it seem like a game.

I scoffed and told her that wasn’t very helpful.
She rolled her eyes and said to just listen, and trusting her, I did.
She continued with how her mama gave her advice,
and how then the entire picture was put into frame.

I tilted my head and wondered what the hell she was talking about.
She smiled gently and finished with:
“Your grandmama told me to tell him how I felt because maybe, hopefully,
his heart burned with the same flame.

So nerve-wracked, I found him the following day,
and I told him everything I had been thinking about.
But most importantly, I told him how I felt.
And, to this day, he’s my guy and I’m his dame.”

Black Love.

Published March 4, 2014 by v.g.

I have an addiction to curves and your lips are no exception.
Schoolyard girls would be jealous of your oral deception.
But I’m just an old 86 pistol that sits under your bed,
and I know the sensation of my cold touch rests at the back of your head.
You crave me, you need me, my sweet release in your mouth.
It’s too bad you don’t think this relationship could go anywhere but south.
Doll yourself up; eyeliner, mascara, sensational red lips just for show.
I think that together we could be a murderous duo.
But I can’t initiate anything, baby, I’m too shy.
Won’t you pull the trigger, honey, and make my bullets fly?

Don’t Forget Me.

Published March 1, 2014 by v.g.

I’ll send you all a postcard once I get there,
I just don’t know if they take pictures where I’m going.
And I’ll write to you every day!
Look up at the clouds; doesn’t that look like my penmanship?
Promise me you’ll notice every time I wrap my arms around you.
It’ll just feel like a cool breeze, but it’s the best I can do from up there.
I don’t have anything to hide anymore,
but I hope you guys didn’t see my wrists before they closed the casket.