To you, yall and to what it was
Facebook doesn’t make it any better. Public displays of our failures and triumphs posted for the world to see. We fell in love in 2005. Broke up in May 06. We were engaged, young and most importantly wildly in love with the idea of being in love. Facebook doesn’t make it any better. And to be honest, I don’t help the cause. I woke up to a picture of her engagement ring in my inbox. Our half-serious dreams of getting married at the age of 30 went down the drain. An agreement we laughed about on the phone is now in the hands of him and the Lord above. I wish you well. We getting old and my heart is still in 04. I still think about our first semester. Sneaking into Bumstead Hall trying to get them draws. Dodging R.A.s and nosey neighbors in order to savor the warmth of you. She dipped on me second semester and it took me several years to track her down. I still remember her yellow skin, her deepest secrets and of course her nice ass. Everybody warned me not to date ol girl from the 100′s. I still miss her realness even though it got fake towards the end. She drove off in her white car and I haven’t seen her once since that day. The plaid vest she bought me with her discount still sits on my hanger as a reminder. If you really know me you would know I miss Gina. Might not be in my best interest to reach out. But it never feels good when something you loved turns sour. I tried to eulogize our love but I still got her number memorized. Who could forget my Peoria Charter trips to feel your warm embrace. $70 well spent and if time was on our side, time would still be spending heaven’s petty cash. I hope I left you with good memories, but I prolly left you feeling some sort of way. By the time you read this your son will be even smarter. I appreciate you dropping me off even when it seemed I did you the same. You never changed and I appreciate your strength. Your accent drives me crazy. I feel like King Kong when I’m around you. I’ll prolly see you again in the future. I don’t know if that’s a good thing. But it damn sure feel good as hell. Not gon lie about that one. LOL. She dissed me just to kiss me. Played possum until the cards played a different hand. I’m happy you got a man. By the time you was ready, I had other plans. Hopefully we can be best friends for life and go back to Harper Hall ways. I will never forget our silent ways of speaking. Speaking in public like everything is everything. Knowing you meant everything and if you called I would leave. I wish you well in marriage. Regardless of what I’ve told you, I’ll come to the wedding and behave. Memoirs properly written on y’all behalf could sell millions. One of y’all was supposed to have my children. And how could I forget Lola. She welcomed me in her home with no job and a promise that I trusted more than any other before. It sucks that I’m just me and we couldn’t be. Straight out of storybooks, fairytales and what the hell. Two lives running along the same paths. Love met and left where fate crossed and tweets exchanged became a history short lived. The one before you reminds me that I’m not over you. And that I’m secretly plotting my road back to your home that I either left or you kicked me out of. My bad habits still haven’t subsided. Still charming, loving and crazier because of meeting you. Some of you found love and post status updates about it on Twitter. One just got engaged and texted me a picture of it. It’s over and I play God trying to resurrect you all. Listening to songs that take me back to 06 when you would willingly swipe your meal plan to appease my belly. Racing back to the time when I iced your bloodied lip when your ex couldn’t understand your growth. My memories are vivid. Some stale, some fresh and others too painful to remember. You remain the high definition, giving full meaning to me. Unfortunately its time I dead you. I’ve been trapped inside this heart shaped box, for weeks and unfortunately months.
She hitting me with the “why you still callin me Daunte” tone.
Unfollowed me on Twitter and screened my calls.
The right side of her bed is no longer my home.
Ol girl would prolly still give me her last but I bruised that thang under her rib.
Maybe it was me talking about kids and a last name,
or rearranging my circumstances so me and her could file joint taxes.
She still love me but that don’t mean I can come back home.
Part of me doesn’t wanna go back and retract every step forward
I’ve taken. Part of me enjoys my memories and doesn’t need a trilogy
to sell me on a movie I’ve seen several times.
I overstand. I understand. It just doesn’t get easier when I still seek yesterday.
Her mama still love me and ask “what’s going on with your boo”?
You probably front and say “aint nobody thinking about Daunte”
or giggle and disregard. Maybe I’m bugging,
wishing for something that wasn’t nothing.
My mama only liked a few of y’all so I can’t say that she miss you.
But I do.
I think of you when I write because it takes me several layers above life
Being with you was like “right”
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Tags: african american poetry, Daunte, Daunte Henderson, Henderson, Poem, poetry, The Listening Party
