Insouciance: a poem

I miss it

His warm, peanut skin against my bare back,

His cheek resting on my shoulder,

Lips at my neck.

The way we would talk after,

About modern-day racism, social issues, oppression.

I miss that.


I miss his laughter and jokes

Satirical, ironical, playful jokes

Though their job was to tear me down—and they did—

I miss them.


I miss his style

The way he walks

The way he carries his blunt stature

His broad shoulders, firm chest, soft face

All giving reason to his incredibly intellectual character.


I miss the feelings we brought to Sunday,

The jubilant essence of car-rides home,

Holding hands and kissing at red lights.

The uplifting notion that we were not who we were

We were we.


But I don’t miss him.

I don’t miss his governing cruelty over my every thing.

His ruinous jokes,

Mocking all that I ever thought to be

His complex nature that drives him,

To always place me at least 5 steps behind him.

I don’t miss him.

Not at all.


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