At 10 years old,
Love was my mother's eyes
It was tucked away in her radiant smile
The curves of her melanin face
Giving in to the simple joys in life.
At 12 years old,
Love was delicious story books
It was the smell of new books
The ink crawling in aligned alphabets
Calling on my curious soul.
At 14 years old,
Rahab stole my heart
Just like the one in the good book
I followed her shadow close
Hoping it would get less confusing.
At 15 years old,
Love was cruelly taken away from me
Death visited shrouded in a drizzling morning
To carry with it a free spirit
That used to guide my lost one home.
At 17 years old,
Love was a responsibility
It was a move to give in to the society
Till I was served ice on my broken
Bottling the unspoken.
At 23 years old,
Love translated to insurmountable pain
It was a continuous ripping pain
Choking me from the inside
Like an invisible arthritic hand.
At 30 years old,
Love was distant rumours
Fading from the high ice walls
Surrounding my cold deliberating heart
Taking with it the warmth of my face.
At 33 years old,
Love was younger than me
It was lust lurking in smoke tasting lips
Whispering to my hormones dirty things
While getting high at 4 in the morning.
At this shook age,
Love is more elusive than anything
It is seductively packed in the wrong souls
Calling to my disappointed self
From every misread kind move.
