when you black
you act like me
your eyes my paper
empty vessel
hit you bring you back
back to me
where I ask and
your mouth moves to answer
when you're back
you wonder why I'm
like I am don't ever ever
fucking leave me again
when will I know what to think?
I need you here
my anchor
This is a poem from [enter ominous music] the Black Book of Poetry. But it needs to be here and it needs to be read, because right now I'm scared out of my mind and don't really know what to do. I hate being weak like this. I hate needing people... but, unfortunately, I do.
