Untitled #4

 Hello beautiful people, my name's Nia Simone. I'm 21 years old and I'm from the good old Confederate capital Richmond, Virginia. I really adore what y'all are doing bring all of these beautiful minds together in one place, and I'd be honored to possibly be a part of it. The following is a poem that I wrote about a year ago, about someone that I used to deal with. It's strange how much creativity can come out of pain. I went through this period where I wasn't even bothered to title my shit because I was so upset. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Btw, my social media handles are @loveniasimone for Instagram and Twitter, and @niasimone for Tumblr. Much love. 

Untitled #4.

The track marks on my left arm resemble your first initial. 
My hands shake when I linger on the memory of you for too long.
This withdrawal is bittersweet. 
At least, when I hallucinate I can have you back beside me. 
Your hands are just as rough as I remember. 
Lips just as soft. 

We used to shoot up together. 
Strung out on a fatal combination of repressed love
laced with a fuck-ton of lust. 
I hated myself after we were done. 
But when our pillow talk made us bond over thinking about death a little too much, 
I knew I was in love. 

I grew to crave every inch of you. 
From your widow's peak
To the wrinkles in the back
of your broad shoulders when you stretched, 
it all grabbed me by the throat. 
The transition from want to need
was quick and painful like a bee sting. 

It's easy for you to quit me. 
I get that. 
I don't come with withdrawal symptoms. 

Cold turkey is your middle name. 
That's how you quit smoking weed, 
40s, and slow fucking. 
You yearned for detachment. 
I was too sticky. 

The last time you told me you loved me
my heart sunk into my empty stomach
and twisted my intestines into a bow. 
You said you were giving me a present by leaving me. 
But it did not feel like Christmas. 
More like the last meal before my execution. 

I like my tears silent.
I realized I cannot live off of what-ifs
and ghosts that tend to visit in the night. 
So when my thoughts linger I snap a rubber band against my wrist. 
My hands calm down.
I am training myself to numb you out.