24. I mourned over a man who was never mine.
20. You are a man who views women properly.
How the mind tricks itself into believing you didn’t feel those sparks, too.
I felt them.
No, I really did feel them in the depths of my soul.
That sharp wound you stitched on the side of my right breast – from across the room.
16. I fell in love with the way you touched me without using your hands.
Here’s a secret: I cried over every boy I kissed.
Another one: I cried over the ones I didn’t either.
All the things I did wrong
- Lash out on you after a night shift
- Tossed out those job applications
- Danced outside the circle
- Respond to you in English
- Not tell you that I love you
How many $2 calling cards will have to cut through your voice and cheat me out of my minutes?
I’m able to write freely in whichever way the keys take me. I’m writing to remember you.
To love you
To live in you
To fall for you
That’s the only way you stomach not speakin’ to an angel
In these extremely unbearable Wi-Fi situations.
Why are we still talking about Eritrea one year later?
We’ve shared zero spaces and no nights alone off a rigged road.
you bought me tea
And didn’t look at me the entire time
Aba Hagoy: Tu’ba gejif iyu
Asmara is the man I avoided seeing for fifteen years. My mother once tried setting us up, especially in the summers, when all the ladies wanted to see him. I held off seeing him for years. Because Asmara didn’t like Black people with White girl accents and big waists. He had a thing for slim jims and tongue twisters. Asmara also kept my family away from me. He was a good dresser often wearing shades of pink, green, orange and other pastels. He was respectable and loving of all religions and creeds, but my family was cooped up in his area for all that time. I resented Asmara from keeping us apart. And heard stories of him claiming to have loved them. But why am I not given the same respect to see them? I don’t want to pay the costs to be with family when love is the only thing I can afford these days.
-Adapting, summer ‘14
Keep bowing down to my level. Flexing those English muscles. Scraping the edge of this foot. Scooping out the tonsil stones that bear surrender in the back of my tongue.
Keep doing right by me – and I’ll leave you.
to affection made for a Queen.
You make love look easy.
I sat up in my seat for twenty-four hours on planes to be with you. I’ve arrived at this box you call an airport.