Milk and Honey Read online

  for

  the arms

  that hold me

  my heart woke me crying last night

  how can i help i begged

  my heart said

  write the book

  contents

  the hurting

  the loving

  the breaking

  the healing

  a letter

  about the writer

  about the book

  how is it so easy for you

  to be kind to people he asked

  milk and honey dripped

  from my lips as i answered

  cause people have not

  been kind to me

  the first boy that kissed me

  held my shoulders down

  like the handlebars of

  the first bicycle

  he ever rode

  i was five

  he had the smell of

  starvation on his lips

  which he picked up from

  his father feasting on his mother at 4 a.m.

  he was the first boy

  to teach me my body was

  for giving to those that wanted

  that i should feel anything

  less than whole

  and my god

  did i feel as empty

  as his mother at 4:25 a.m.

  it is your blood

  in my veins

  tell me how i’m

  supposed to forget

  the therapist places

  the doll in front of you

  it is the size of girls

  your uncles like touching

  point to where his hands were

  you point to the spot

  between its legs the one

  he fingered out of you

  like a confession

  how’re you feeling

  you pull the lump

  in your throat out

  with your teeth

  and say fine

  numb really

  - midweek sessions

  he was supposed to be

  the first male love of your life

  you still search for him

  everywhere

  - father

  you were so afraid

  of my voice

  i decided to be

  afraid of it too

  she was a rose

  in the hands of those

  who had no intention

  of keeping her

  every time you

  tell your daughter

  you yell at her

  out of love

  you teach her to confuse

  anger with kindness

  which seems like a good idea

  till she grows up to

  trust men who hurt her

  cause they look so much

  like you

  - to fathers with daughters

  i’ve had sex she said

  but i don’t know

  what making love

  feels like

  if i knew what

  safety looked like

  i would have spent

  less time falling into

  arms that were not

  sex takes the consent of two

  if one person is lying there not doing anything

  cause they are not ready

  or not in the mood

  or simply don’t want to

  yet the other is having sex

  with their body it’s not love

  it is rape

  the idea that we are

  so capable of love

  but still choose

  to be toxic

  there is no bigger illusion in the world

  than the idea that a woman will

  bring dishonor into a home

  if she tries to keep her heart

  and her body safe

  you pinned

  my legs to

  the ground

  with your feet

  and demanded

  i stand up

  the rape will

  tear you

  in half

  but it

  will not

  end you

  you have sadness

  living in places

  sadness shouldn’t live

  a daughter should

  not have to

  beg her father

  for a relationship

  trying to convince myself

  i am allowed

  to take up space

  is like writing with

  my left hand

  when i was born

  to use my right

  - the idea of shrinking is hereditary

  you tell me to quiet down cause

  my opinions make me less beautiful

  but i was not made with a fire in my belly

  so i could be put out

  i was not made with a lightness on my tongue

  so i could be easy to swallow

  i was made heavy

  half blade and half silk

  difficult to forget and not easy

  for the mind to follow

  he guts her

  with his fingers

  like he’s scraping

  the inside of a

  cantaloupe clean

  your mother

  is in the habit of

  offering more love

  than you can carry

  your father is absent

  you are a war

  the border between two countries

  the collateral damage

  the paradox that joins the two

  but also splits them apart

  emptying out of my mother’s belly

  was my first act of disappearance

  learning to shrink for a family

  who likes their daughters invisible

  was the second

  the art of being empty

  is simple

  believe them when they say

  you are nothing

  repeat it to yourself

  like a wish

  i am nothing

  i am nothing

  i am nothing

  so often

  the only reason you know

  you’re still alive is from the

  heaving of your chest

  - the art of being empty

  you look just like your mother

  i guess i do carry her tenderness well

  you both have the same eyes

  cause we are both exhausted

  and the hands

  we share the same wilting fingers

  but that rage your mother doesn’t wear that anger

  you’re right

  this rage is the one thing

  i get from my father

  (homage to warsan shire’s inheritance)

  when my mother opens her mouth

  to have a conversation at dinner

  my father shoves the word hush

  between her lips and tells her to

  never speak with her mouth full

  this is how the women in my family

  learned to live with their mouths closed

  our knees

  pried open

  by cousins

  and uncles

  and men

  our bodies touched

  by all the wrong people

  that even in a bed full of safety

  we are afraid

  father. you always call to say nothing in particular. you ask what i’m doing or where i am and when the silence stretches like a lifetime between us i scramble to find questions to keep the conversation going. what i long to say most is. i understand this world broke you. it has been so hard on your feet. i don’t blame you for not knowing how to remain soft with me. sometimes i stay up t
hinking of all the places you are hurting which you’ll never care to mention. i come from the same aching blood. from the same bone so desperate for attention i collapse in on myself. i am your daughter. i know the small talk is the only way you know how to tell me you love me. cause it is the only way i know how to tell you.

  you plough into me with two fingers and i am mostly shocked. it feels like rubber against an open wound. i do not like it. you begin pushing faster and faster. but i feel nothing. you search my face for a reaction so i begin acting like the naked women in the videos you watch when you think no one’s looking. i imitate their moans. hollow and hungry. you ask if it feels good and i say yes so quickly it sounds rehearsed. but the acting. you do not notice.

  i can’t tell if my mother is

  terrified or in love with

  my father it all

  looks the same

  i flinch when you touch me

  i fear it is him

  when my mother was pregnant

  with her second child i was four

  i pointed at her swollen belly confused at how

  my mother had gotten so big in such little time

  my father scooped me in his tree trunk arms and

  said the closest thing to god on this earth

  is a woman’s body it’s where life comes from

  and to have a grown man tell me something

  so powerful at such a young age

  changed me to see the entire universe

  rested at my mother’s feet

  i struggle so deeply

  to understand

  how someone can

  pour their entire soul

  blood and energy

  into someone

  without wanting

  anything in

  return

  - i will have to wait till i’m a mother

  no

  it won’t

  be love at

  first sight when

  we meet it’ll be love

  at first remembrance cause

  i’ve seen you in my mother’s eyes

  when she tells me to marry the type

  of man i’d want to raise my son to be like

  every revolution

  starts and ends

  with his lips

  what am i to you he asks

  i put my hands in his lap

  and whisper you

  are every hope

  i’ve ever had

  in human form

  my favorite thing about you is your smell

  you smell like

  earth

  herbs

  gardens

  a little more

  human than the rest of us

  i know i

  should crumble

  for better reasons

  but have you seen

  that boy he brings

  the sun to its

  knees every

  night

  you are the faint line

  between faith and

  blindly waiting

  - letter to my future lover

  nothing is safer

  than the sound of you

  reading out loud to me

  - the perfect date

  he placed his hands

  on my mind

  before reaching

  for my waist

  my hips

  or my lips

  he didn’t call me

  beautiful first

  he called me

  exquisite

  - how he touches me

  i am learning

  how to love him

  by loving myself

  he says

  i am sorry i am not an easy person to want

  i look at him surprised

  who said i wanted easy

  i don’t crave easy

  i crave goddamn difficult

  the very thought of you

  has my legs spread apart

  like an easel with a canvas

  begging for art

  i am ready for you

  i have always

  been

  ready for you

  - the first time

  i do not want to have you

  to fill the empty parts of me

  i want to be full on my own

  i want to be so complete

  i could light a whole city

  and then

  i want to have you

  cause the two of us combined

  could set it on fire

  love will come

  and when love comes

  love will hold you

  love will call your name

  and you will melt

  sometimes though

  love will hurt you but

  love will never mean to

  love will play no games

  cause love knows life

  has been hard enough already

  i’d be lying if i said

  you make me speechless

  the truth is you make my

  tongue so weak it forgets

  what language to speak in

  he asks me what i do

  i tell him i work for a small company

  that makes packaging for—

  he stops me midsentence

  no not what you do to pay the bills

  what drives you crazy

  what keeps you up at night

  i tell him i write

  he asks me to show him something

  i take the tips of my fingers

  place them inside his forearm

  and graze them down his wrist

  goose bumps rise to the surface

  i see his mouth clench

  muscles tighten

  his eyes pore into mine

  as though i’m the reason

  for making them blink

  i break gaze just as

  he inches toward me

  i step back

  so that’s what you do

  you command attention

  my cheeks flush as

  i smile shyly

  confessing

  i can’t help it

  you might not have been my first love

  but you were the love that made

  all the other loves

  irrelevant

  you’ve touched me

  without even

  touching me

  how do you turn

  a forest fire like me

  so soft i turn into

  running water

  you look like you smell of

  honey and no pain

  let me have a taste of that

  your name is

  the strongest

  positive and negative

  connotation in any language

  it either lights me up or

  leaves me aching for days

  you talk too much

  he whispers into my ear

  i can think of better ways to use that mouth

  it’s your voice

  that undresses me

  my name sounds so good

  french kissing your tongue

  you wrap your fingers

  around my hair

  and pull

  this

  is how you make

  music out of me

  - foreplay

  on days

  like this

  i need you to

  run your fingers

  through my hair

  and speak softly

  - you

  i want your hands

  to hold

  not my hands

  your lips

  to kiss

  not my lips

  but other places

  i need someone

  who knows struggle

  as well as i do

  someone

  willing to hold my feet in their lap

  on days it is too difficult to stand

  the type of person who gives

  exactly what i need


  before i even know i need it

  the type of lover who hears me

  even when i do not speak

  is the type of understanding

  i demand

  - the type of lover i need

  you move my hand

  between my legs

  and whisper

  make those pretty little fingers dance for me

  - solo performance

  we’ve been arguing more than we ought to. about things neither of us remember or care about cause that’s how we avoid the bigger questions. instead of asking why we don’t say i love you to one another as often as we used to. we fight about things like: who was supposed to get up and turn the lights off first. or who was supposed to pop the frozen pizza in the oven after work. taking hits at the most vulnerable parts of one another. we’re like fingers on thorns honey. we know exactly where it hurts.

  and everything is on the table tonight. like that one time you whispered a name i’m pretty sure wasn’t mine in your sleep. or last week when you said you were working late. so i called work but they said you’d already left a couple hours ago. where were you for those couple hours.