I’ve always thought I had a good handle on love
Like it was something I could plan for, calculate,
Like an itinerary, or a map with a compass.
Almost so calculated that it was easy to avoid the thought of it,
See the multitudes of ain’t shit mothafuckas in the street and laugh
They never had a chance with a woman like me,
It’s part of what got under their skin.
It’s a part of their attraction to me - their need to dominate me just… being.
All these people moving in, moving through, moving out, of the mountains and valleys of my existence - But that, that was never love, or even came close.
Love is present - constant throughout my journey without a map or a compass, no plans, wrong turns, calculations awry, nothing is handled, I am the golden rule, I am every plane of direction, I am reckless, tidal waves of me… being.
Like color theory, me next to you changes the primary landscape
And they can see us from far out.
We are what it is to file away at the confines,
Shatter the perception of what it is to love in present tense.
Though my being is a tantrum and a solace - you understand my process.
