Wassup?

a poem

Sometimes it feels good to do some guilty shit.

Like, that one time when I went over to his house, having to tip-toe down the steps so Lady Tremaine wouldn’t hear me.

And I went into his bedroom

he locked the door

I said hello and smiled, then gave him the kind of hug I knew he needed

and when he’d squeeze me back, I swear, it’s the perfect squeeze.

Then followed by his lips, hands, intimate touching,

orgasms, love-making, then switching positions…

see, in the moment I was thinking bout how much this man must

really, and I mean REALLY love me just by how he has been touching me, fucking me, “loving me”, because I’ve never had sex that made me feel like a grown ass woman who knows her shit ain’t together, but she gon get it the fuck together because not only does she believes in herself, but her lover believes in her. What is power of manifestation for 200?

But then after sex, shit gets a little awkward. Like, why the fuck is he standing by the door, looking at the tv, scratching the back of his neck as if I’m the side chick he shouldn’t have fucked?

I’m thinking we did something wrong because of the way he put on clothes, get back in bed, and scroll on Facebook as if I’m just a human robot for men to release stress, so they can feel better.

what

the

fuck

is

up

Like, that other time when the second I’d want to cuddle after sex

he’d scroll on Facebook with one of his hands above my knee, as if it’s to let me know, “Sequoia, you tweaking talm bout human robot”

then, I’d kiss him all over cause I sweaaarrrr he’s the best thing to ever happen when I met him and while kissing him before he lets me know it’s enough, I’d pray to God that this man goes further in whatever it is he wants to pursue because I believe in him just as much as he believes in me

and when I’d let him know that I’m home

he’ll leave me on read to remind me that this was nothing serious

and everyday I am reminded that this was nothing serious, leaving me to feel like nothing until I feel so lonely that all I crave is him

and I allowed myself to be vulnerable, to get comfortable, to trust him; feeling as if I am his Queen who cannot be replaced

Because he’d let me know I’m “his favorite”….

But deep inside, I felt no spark between the lines of his words

I questioned if he likes me for who I am or does he only want my energy when it’s convenient for him?

My mind likes to replay his words when I’m alone, sometimes

I just wanna know the difference between real and fake

Is this love or lust?

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