I will always believe in you. My prayers fall from your lips and remind me that I am on holy ground. That what our bond births is divine. That it was written long before we locked eyes or held hands or held hearts or could fathom the enchantment that lives beneath two tongues swelling with praise. I know every morning upon waking that you are the light that illuminates my path to righteousness. My spirit won’t allow me to feel anything besides your absolute audacity to shine.
“Not everyone is okay with living like an open wound. But the thing about open wounds is that, well, you aren’t ignoring it. You’re healing; the fresh air can get to it. It’s honest. You aren’t hiding who you are. You aren’t rotting. People can give you advice on how to heal without scarring badly. But on the other hand there are some people who’ll feel uncomfortable around you. Some will even point and laugh. But we all have wounds.”
That one of the greatest rhyme stylists this generation can lay claim to may not even be a rapper at all defies the very nature of what we have come to expect from hip-hop’s new class. He raps, sure, but any attempt to label such proficient prose would be futile. Drenching narratives in …
do you see this goddess you make of me?
the way our love glitters before the gods
like our connectivity alone can pull stars from the sky and drop them into the ocean
like pennies in heaven’s wishing wells.
the thing you are most
afraid to write.
No parts of you are supplemental. You are some kind of illumination, though. A light that douses me in a seemingly masochistic burden-bearing exchange. I wore your spine today and your hurt felt negligible on me. I have had to be diligent in reassuring my lover that I am swallowed by your language and I only crave your conversation. And when he threatens me with silence I can’t help but require an eternity of you. I asked you to talk forever and he hates the way I command your tongue.