Ill of Me
A Black Iris by Georgia O'Keefe
I always used to wonder how those girls...
How... THOSE.... girls
woke up in the morning, repositioned their ass from up and went about their day
little did I know how good the sleep is when you have no regrets.
I never would have thought that I would turn down my nose from up at that girl
that girl who wore that same smile, giggles mirroring mine with the shared secret that our beds weren't empty
and that before he left he planted kisses on our forehead, told us he would see us later, and that there was coffee in the pot.
Yes. For some of us it still happens.
My dear, you are a gift, and with the right ones it's okay to share yourself.
I never thought I'd relish in my weakness, in the things I would do for him and feel no shame.
Secretly wondering what I would do next?
Had me thinking if I showered and left now, what time would I make it back??
How could the thought of no pressure propel me to go further?
I'm caught up in the moment love
"Whoever pays attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you"
and I'm not concerned about what they label us
neither am I worried about what you tell your boys...
isn't it obvious anyway?
We made us. Without regards to rules. I'm not dating you. I don't want to.
I just wanna see your smile over my coffee cup.