Let Me Count the Ways

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  • Self Love
    • MayaReid
    • has a new blog. If you want to learn more about her, check out www.afrodisisaccordingtome.blogspot.com

    Let Me Count the Ways

    Restin my arms on this table, lookin into those eyes I see that you
    love me. Real love, like I can remember my mama listenin to
    Mary J searchin for when I was too little to even sing along
    That lift me up and make me feel like I can fly like Maxwell gave me Pretty Wings like me screamin
    “Faster, Daddy, Faster!” on the swingset in Burch Grove Park when I was five
    kind of love. I wanted to go over the top and turn inside out
    like that boy on TV. But you already know me inside and out.
    You love me with that protective kind of love, like seat belt races and a pink bike helmet for my 6th birthday.
    A proud kind of love, like That’s my baby! at graduation even though I made her promise not to.
    You love me like you know me like he wanted me to know my people when I was 13 and he made me watch Roots, all four DVDs.
    With a love that knows its own history, like what we put in the books November 4, 2008.
    With that celebratory love: you praise my accomplishments and remind me of my strengths when I feel weak.
    With a love that’s grown, like my little sister’s hair has since her flat iron caught on fire.
    With that deep kind of love, deep like the trenches in the Atlantic Ocean where my ancestors lay.
    That rollercoaster, keep-your-hands-and-feet-i
    nside-the-car-cuz-this-is-gon-be-one-helluva-ride kind of love.
    With that spontaneous love, that “I wanna go dancing in the rain” “Okay let’s go” kind of love.
    That nitty-gritty not afraid to put your hands in my fro kind of love.
    You love me honestly, like I’ma give it to ya straight, but only because I know you’re worth the truth
    Truth, like Sojourner, you will make journeys for me. We got that ain’t no mountain high enough kind of love.
    And it’s a strong love, strong like that football player my momma wouldn’t me date when I was 15 who could bench press me
    It’s that curious kind of love: like how many licks does it take to find out what’s inside?
    And some might call it a free love, not that hippie spread-your-legs for anybody type of B.S. , but a Monica Now I know why they say the best things are free love
    And I’m getting kind of tired of hiding it, like when I was 7 seeing Hercules in theaters and Meg wouldn’t say she’s in love.
    So if we’re gonna be open about it, I guess we should start right now: if my girl India were here, she’d call this my Private Party. True love begins with me. I wrote this poem looking in a mirror.

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    Sx9 commented on Let Me Count the Ways

    11-06-2010

    so the ways are many and huge to the soul,we all share your vibes and even if it is not that great we still count the ways,,for parents are special and mirrors give back what you put in,true to the vibes you share your heart,,love for others is what you first feel..

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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