Some of us love badly. Sometimes the love is the type of love that
implodes. Folds in on itself. Eats its insides. Turns wine to poison.
Behaves poorly in restaurants. Drinks. Kisses other people. Comes
back to your bed at 4am smelling like everything outside. Asks about
your ex. Is jealous of your ex. Thinks everyone a rival. Some of us
love others badly, love ourselves worse. Some of us love horrid, love
beastly. Love sick love anti light. Sometimes the love can’t go home
at night, can’t sleep with itself cannot contain itself, catches fire,
destroys the belly, strips buildings, goes missing. Punches. Smashes
heirlooms. Tells lies. The best lies. Fucks around. Writes poems,
impresses people. Chases lovers into corners. Leaves them longing.
Sea sick. Says yes. Means anything but. Tricks the body. Kills the
body. Dances wild and walks away, smiling.
– When it is but It Ain’t
The Afro-Librarians 