I remember the smell of his skin
The taste of his lips
The residue of sin left on my skin by sweat from orgasms past
I’ve turned another body
Lost a piece of my soul in between loud screaming and sweating
Now I lay here going over the details of what it means to truly have someone love me
Of what it meant to feel important to someone…. ANYONE
Remembering love and the faint memories it has left on my heart
Romance…. passion….fire
Now all I do is turn over bodies
For pieces of my soul hoping to find intimacy somewhere in the dirtiness of my sheets
Touching, feeling deep in myself trying to find “her”
She is laid out somewhere 6 feet under in a casket named broken hearted wearing scarlet and bleeding crimson
Wishing that once again she could be alive…. loved….whole
But now I wear black
In an alley with multiple names on my walls written with semen, sweat and blood
Not even multiple Ajax washings can make it clean
For my journal of masturbatory admissions is now a Hall of Fame
Yet none are famous
How long will I search?
Turning over rocks of broken hearts
The smell of lust on his skin is all that keeps invading my memories
Knowing he will never wear the title husband
I turn off my mind and hand over my prize for another peasant
Because I am not worthy enough to have love because my soul is empty
I’m just a woman wearing black with patches of “Him” piecing me together
Longing for those pieces to make me whole
Until I realize that he’s next to me
Holding me hostage with his arms and legs
And I remember another body turned
And I’m just another hole made wet with no feelings left over
Leaving my calling card on his mirror written in red lipstick…
“Be seeing you….”
MiZunderstood Poetry 