Strictly for my Single Sistaz

“I Have No One To Talk To.”

such threnody renders your soul weak.
especially when i know what you really mean is

that you are single, not been laid for months, lonely and you just screwed up the best relationships you ever had.

that your family, friends can’t (under)stand you because you’re too demanding and judgmental. you have simply refused to grow up. refused to love, refused to give.

that you want the world to hug you, and convince you that it’s okay to push people out of your life, because you think liquor, social media and love poems will hug you, keep you warm at 3 in the morning, knead your ankles at 3 in the afternoon.

but, baby –

don’t you know that you’re the best company you ever had?
that your thoughts and dreams and and and fears; all your heartbeats is the best conversations you ever
need?

baby, learn to crawl.
learn to –

crumble these walls. love yourself — and by that i don’t mean you touching yourself to sleep. or moaning lustfully to shower heads and dildos and yoga.

i mean, leave the bed unmade, go out on bare feet and smell the morning. squint at the sun. your lipstick tracing your eyebrows in the mirror. learn that the best admirers of women are women themselves. dig your teeth into a watermelon, suck it dry – learn how to kiss breathlessly. blow a kiss to the wind. send love to the universe. maybe your breath will ruffle some angel feathers. and when you get back to your room, sad songs on your playlist all deleted, your ‘single ladies’ series on mute, you will find me reading your single ladies magazine. and you will discover i have been around all along. that i wanted to reach out, talk to you, cuddle you. promise you a ring. touch your fingernails. make your bed while you bake pancakes.

i have been there. all this time.

but you always introduced me as, “meet mike, my neighbour and workmate…” to your friends.

but i have always been there. listening to the words you never spoke. all you ever said was “9t buddy” in your text messages.

but baby-

i’ve seen you wear your face like a blog whose “comments” section has been disabled. i have imagined you free. i have imagined your arms squeezing my world like morning fingers on an empty toothpaste tube.

come here, silly little thing or i’ll wait till the world is done loving you, then I’ll come back like a memory to hurt you. to remind you of what you’re running from –

you.

and a little bit

of me.