Poetry by Farah Lawal Harris

Posts tagged “dating

Adjectively Interesting


i always swore that
i was so freaking awesome–
well not always,
but for quite a while,
i’ve been some kind of wonderful
and then i met you
and you’re super fantastic
and when we’re together,
i’m über courageous
and when i say your name,
i’m uncontrollably smiling
and when you’re close enough to touch,
i’m shiveringly anxious
and now that we’ve bonded,
i’m so incredibly grateful.

our souls have matched
and i’m so peacefully excited
and even though i’m creative and carefree,
i’m growing exponentially mature
and i never expected such
overwhelming love
because at one time,
my heart was indefinitely closed
but for your sweetness,
it cautiously opened
and now i’m wide open,
ready to receive all of the adjectives
you’re willing to add to my life
that i thought was so
interesting already
until you came to show me
that interesting alone
is not enough.

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2 a.m. Happiness


So happy for no particular reason.
No inciting action,
but this is my season.
Summer in his smile
melted winter in my heart.
We’re spring.


Evolution


i’m a woman but
you got me giggling like a little girl.
i can be hard but
i have softened,
silly putty in your hands.
your hands.
how profound that i got so used to my own,
forgot the sensation of fingertips
meeting the identity maps of others.
i remember.
i am honored.
i am giggling girl-woman-baby
smiling, cooing,
no longer pursuing
but caught.


Wet Feet


new touch with an old face
but fresh feelings.
it’s funny–the old me
was too numb to even know
that these nerves existed,
that i could be myself in my own skin,
that you’d appreciate my blemishes;
that i can lay back and be silly
without false pretenses.

i’ve pretended
that i’m ok with being lonely forever
and the hurt i faced in the past
had me thinking that i would never
open arms again
or kiss lips again
or dare to wish again
but i see him again
and yesterday melts like ice cubes in the summer,
new experiences wash over me like water
and i kind of like
getting my feet wet.


The Beauty of Now


regardless of how things might end up,
i’m thankful for now;
for my smile and the awakening
in my soul and body,
body and soul;
for jazz tones traveling up my spine
and dancing out of my mouth
through colorful, raucous laughter.

the world becomes pink and blue
as energy mingles together
in a soft purple violet
thriving, but
needing to be watered.


Fireflies


i wish i could take
the sensuous gravity of this night
in my hands and place it softly inside a clear jar
to keep for our remembrance.
we innocently brush one another like fireflies.
i cautiously beg you to look at my light
and i flicker in ways i thought were shut off.
let’s not let our air supply get cut off.
this jar has holes cut in its lid;
hopefully reality still finds its way in
so that we invite our brains into our hearts’ decisions.
this encasement, although small,
does not feel like prison,
but freedom.
free me as you hold me,
hold me,
hold me,
and when it’s time to let go,
do so
and let me fly
until we meet again,
my more than friend.fireflies


Taste of Memories


certain foods get me thinking about you:
spicy curry atop rice and peas, fried “plant-in”,
and cabbage salad on the side
transports me back to those times
when we shared more than meals–
culinary expert teaching naive me
how to season chicken and cook rice without burning it
and how to savor the flavor of coconut juice
that like you,
i drank and chewed.
our hearts steamed like fresh vegetables,
aroma making me hungry for more.
i had a large appetite back then,
begging you to feed me more of you,
tell me stories to make me swim to Caribbean islands,
expose me to different music styles and lifestyles
and herbs and such.

i quietly still want you to
intoxicate me with your touch like you used to do
because though it has been years,
after you, i’ve never been able to lay in a bed
and be completely relaxed.
my back never used to have this amount of tension
that only grows tighter from lack of attention.
even when i had problems back then,
they never seemed to be too much.
now i’m choking to death and my old life preserver
is probably the server of happy memories
to someone else.

i hope she’s happy.
i hope you’re happy,
emancipated from my hard head that refuses to forgive
and my sharp tongue that enjoys throwing knives.
will there be a next time?
i wonder if you’ll ever be between more than my mind
like chicken patty in coco bread
washed down by fresh carrot juice.
will we return to our roots
or are they split ends
never go be rekindled again?

Jah knows best.