(Written in response to ink.)

1. I’m quite fond of chipped white paint and popcorn ceilings because they remind me of my grandmother’s home in Indianapolis. But somehow, despite your lack of brick or scent of cocoa-buttered hands in the kitchen making hotwater cornbread, I have found myself quite fond of you. I’m sorry to call, but my pen is no longer working, and I can’t bear to make myself write another poem about love without finishing it; I can no longer permit myself to prohibit the thought of you from entering my mind. Because I don’t love you, but I wish I did.
2. I’m sorry to call you, but today is Sunday and my pastor was telling me to revaluate my priorities, because idols are not simply limited to wood. And I think I’ve made more than a home out of you. I want to apologize for the expectations I have placed in your name. After church let out, I was watching two guys interact with each other at the park across the street, and I’ve realized that sometimes boys need a shoulder to lean on as much as I feel like I do.
3. Hey. Last night I was watching a couple dance, and I imagined you were the man who was wrapped tightly in the arms of a girl who I pictured myself to be. And I couldn’t help but revere the affinity they shared. That same night I was watching a girl dance and I realized that women can be just as free on their own. I’m sorry to bother you again, but I’ve been thinking about deleting your number from my phone, and I just wanted you to know in case you start to wonder why you haven’t heard from me.
4. I’m sorry to call you, but you got me questioning myself. I know what I said last time about a woman being fine on her own. But I’m just wondering what the canon of a normal girl looks like, because I feel like it needs to be rewritten. Because sometimes I can’t find my place in it. Tell me where I lack so I can buy the right hair, pick the right clothes, and choose the right angle so I can walk and talk accordingly. Even in my bathroom mirror I can’t recognize the beauty in me. And I’m not one to think of my body in this way so you’re going to have to fix me. You’re supposed to appear to be the most beautiful to yourself in the reflection of your home bathroom. But I already told you that my home is not my home anymore, so I’m going to have to see you, so you can remind me that I can walk through this world like God’s got a blessing for me.
5. Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to tell you that my sister told me that I should try writing love poems again.
6. I’m sorry to call you. I wish I didn’t, but I went to another party last weekend, and I found a boy who says my name like it’s something sacred. Sometimes he touches me and the coarse skin he should feel turns into silk as quickly as Jesus turned water to wine. He makes my five loaves of bread and two fish feel like something that could satisfy me for the rest of my life. He makes me feel like what I have is enough. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.
7. It’s me again. I don’t know whether my skin has been clearing up or the perception of myself has, but I look in the mirror and it makes me want to sing a song that makes me forget about the days when I only looked in the Bible for allusions for the love poems I could never finish. I’m starting to recognize that fellowship at church on 9th avenue at 10am isn’t that different from the court which isn’t that different from the parties I attend because each one has allowed my body to grow in their own way.
8. I’m sorry to call you again, but I think I’ve fallen in a love that’s made me realize why people play Stevie Wonder like they do when they do. I think I’ve figured out why that girl at that party held that boy so closely in her arms. It was almost as if she knew he was going to leave her sooner than she had prepared herself for. I think I’ve figured out how it’s so easy to make idols out of nothing. Because you feel so strongly you must find some way in this physical world to validate what you’re feeling inside. And by you, I mean I. Because on a bad day Stevie Wonder has songs that make me feel as somber as they made me happy.
9. Hey, I just wanted to call to say that I was so worried about other people giving up on me that I neglected to realize that I had given up on myself. I neglected to acknowledge the fact that I had divinity within me. I neglected to acknowledge that instead of giving up writing love poems, I could I have picked up a different pen and written a love poem about someone else. I think it’s time for Black girls to start writing their own stories in ink. Because the same stories that I continue to write and the same poems that I have yet to finish aren’t that different from my auntie’s favorite India Arie songs or the unrequited love stories my cousin likes to watch or the reason my mother takes so much time to value herself now because of all the years her ability to love herself was stolen from her. It’s also the same reason all the women in my life tell me to accept myself, but continue to get hurt by the same men.
10. Hey. Today I finished one of those love poems that I could never finish, and the last line was, “Stop carrying the baggage of anyone who has ever spoken damage into your life because they were uncomfortable in their own.” I think you’re one of the many things I’ve been carrying around my whole life that I need to release. My body has grown so heavy and my spine has grown so week, so I think it’s time for me to let go. I need to make some room in my heart for myself. I need reoccupy my body, so I can stand up straight. I’m tired of nursing the same broken hearts, and that includes my own.