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The World

She reminds you of Heaven

Hair like bronze statues, skin gold like pyramids in Egypt

You fancy her

Took time to admire curves that your hands just can’t quite seem

to get enough of

Her voice sounds like ice cream trucks Mid-July, Chicago Sunday afternoons

you run to her.

Tell her that she is salvation and I like the sun

If I did not cause so much damage then you’d have no reason for her company

but even in my destruction I bring to you light

How come you don’t appreciate me?

You must look at her with the same eyes that soldiers view God before a clean battle

but will not save you, she does not love you

Only desires your attention on occasions you mean nothing to her

but everything to me

Silly boy chasing that loose gravel upon the stream

Does my heart not mean anything to you?

Are you not satisfied with the gourmet meal place before you at the table or has

your pallet grown bored with my likings

You don’t want her you just want anything that’s outside of you normality anything that reminds

you that you're not with me

You want to forget home

Like so many lost boys before you, she is a 3 am New York alley

you’ve heard tales of her terror but bored with the sidewalks you explore her

Blind and unarmed snatched away from my hands

How come you don’t allow me to keep you warm

You grow bored with yourself so you play with sins and fire even your demons are

afraid that you might make the wrong decision

You fear my touch because it is evident that good things do exist

Do you feel that hole beneath your ribcage… it is evident that I exist?

But you would much rather have me in stories ten years from now as the one who got away

instead of the one who bares your children

Do you not find me motherly enough?

Chase after what you can't have as stepping stones to masculinity

Define your manhood through wounded bodies that lay beneath your bed sheets

And I stand outside your bedroom door… waiting

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NaTosha Devon

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR | NaTosha Devon

I am Na’Tosha De’Von, MFA actor and published poet. I originate from Chicago IL, raised in Mississippi. I believe that the purpose of my art is to expose and heal. In my mind, I would like to think that the first words I ever spoke were in the form of a metaphor. With that, I acknowledge the power of words. How they tend to make me feel, how my words make others feel. Sometimes they’re flowers, sometimes daggers, others are just empty thoughts. Due to the exposing, each poem that I create and share with you will have a tendency to leave a mark, petals or bruises you decide. However, in the mist, find healing.

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FOLLOW NaTosha on Instagram HERE.

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