Black Magic

[from BLACK, a poetry collection]

Black Magic 

It wasn’t the way he called me out or

saw through my lies or made me confess

all my secrets. It wasn’t the way he

calmed me down or held me

tight and didn’t let go. It wasn’t the way he taught me to

shut up or taught me to

stand tall or taught me I am so

much more than I let myself be. It wasn’t the way he

made me feel ready to die and ready

to live at the same damn time

and it wasn’t the way his

skin enchanted mine like a Scorpio New Moon like

an ancient smoke and oil filled fantasy like

that shit was biblical like

frankincense and myrrh, and rich like

shea butter like

we traversed through prehistoric darkness like

the shadows between time and space like


all up on my white skin like

a yin yang terror

chasing each other to

feel whole. It wasn’t the way that everything

that was never supposed to happen, happened.

It wasn’t the way he called me a trailblazer or called me

a love guru or called me a fucking

brat. It wasn’t the way he broke

through my barriers, pierced

through my heart, chewed

through my excuses. It wasn’t the way he


or fucked up,

refused to say NO, refused to say

YES, refused to walk away

until he walked away

cuz he had had enough

(or cuz he hadn’t)

with a single love letter written

in ink. It wasn’t the way some words were crossed out

as I read them on the plane and knew I couldn’t ever

go back. It wasn’t the way the tears streamed

down my face

with all the things he never wanted

to say and all the things I never

could hear…

It wasn’t the way

Read: Dying Man / Girl Still Alive

One thought on “Black Magic

  1. Breath after breath , while the rain colapses in the wind child and the abstract drops break in fragments,
    slices of unwanted dreams, moments and memories.
    Would I lie or live trough her feline eyes.


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