Backseat Dreaming

Pure Nostalgia

Have you ever been torn between yourself and pure nostalgia, at it's finest?
Is it the sweetest thing to know?
Is it his brown skin? Is it his flow ?
Or the flutter
Of every word
Delivered from him to you
As cold water hitting your nude?
Is it his style? Or is it the chill you get when eye contact is met
Or is it all in your head ?
You cannot sleep and simultaneously make your bed.
Why are you aching for more pain you cannot tell yourself if he's worth your while you are indulged in his absent smile and
you are taking your own worth in vain

Why are you crying if he is a stranger?
The energy and darkness puts your vulnerability in danger .
You constantly build up your frustration and anger.
You are a brick wall.
He is a prophet in poetry and black suits him well.
You are a flower on a wall scared to leave hell,
you're not making sense and you're not leaving an imprint,
so what are you doing?
Suffering
And it's senseless.

By Imari Roberts

This poem is about: 
Me
My country

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