butter on my pen.

sometimes i write things. sometimes things write me.

[butteronmypen]

i’m an asshole. (draft)

i'm an asshole.

the problem is....i'm an asshole, and i've been pretending all this time.

i've been pretending all this time and just being mean to myself.

Just being mean to myself when i really wanted to be mean to y'all.

when i really wanted to be real with y'all. i wanted to scream no while standing on tables. i wanted to say what i thought without twitching. without twisting. without the nagging thought

now i am angry and show my teeth. i invite you to have a problem. to give me a reason.

but i guess i just need to reintroduce myself. perhaps i was never really the victim. and if i was it was my misunderstanding,

that you ever had the right to come and test me.

Rashawna Wilson

[butteronmypen]

Boombastic. Draft 1 (17/30)

My heart hits glacier every time –you.

walk. talk. be.

even in the thought.

heart holds heart and gasps for breath.

asks mind for explanation.

asks why love at first sight happens every time.

why dreams pitter patter through these eyes of mine. when they gaze at you.

why my legs feel like legs. I never notice them until you’re around.

as if I’m learning to walk for the first time when you look my way.

boom.

boom.

boom.

my heart thumps the cavity of my past. engulfs the room with rewinds of yestergo

soundbwoy pulls into the mic.

says, “look! he’s different from the rest.”

he looks like he knows how to love.

looks like he would want to know.

looks like he isn’t predisposed to hurting.

I am predisposed to fool. locked in stereotype. young girl not secure enough to secure… enough.

not comfortable enough in this skin to give anyone the bare workings of me without feeling terribly alone.

God is growing me one rainfall and rose petal at a time. calming each scream and rolled eye.

never did need a man. still don’t. but I still have hands

for you. and arms… and smile.

want the soundwaves of this boombastic heart to lure you into my quiet.

love.

[butteronmypen]

oldie.

[butteronmypen]

i learned a thing about myself.

i learned a thing about myself. 

the kind of thing you would keep a secret. 

the kind of secret you hide under the belly of your darkest room. 

stuffed under a sea of fake smiles and half-hearted explanations.

under boxes marked excuses, under “hard to remember”. 

for which you would have no choice but to close the door. 

and turn the key

and burn a house down to keep this very thing from ever getting out. 

but it had to get out, i learned. 

because it was me burning in that house. 

under the floor boards, the boxes

underneath the fake smiles and half hearts and the box marked excuses.

it was me. 

i tried to escape the thing, but the thing was me 

and now i'm here, looking in the mirror, 

as if for the very first time

waiting to be introduced. 

(C) 2020 Rashawna Wilson

[butteronmypen]

i realized.

we weren't even in love.  

just desperate for anything 

that looked like it. 

 C. rashawna wilson 2020

[butteronmypen]

in between.

i'm afraid to say i'm happy. 

don't know happy all that well. 

not enough to let it spend the night.

not enough to tell sad to leave. 

but i don't smoke much when happy comes. 

and the liquor don't get touched. 

and my smile is wide enough to see my big discolored teeth though i'm not caring at all. 

lately i been looking in the mirror and liking myself. from my wide nostrils to my chin hairs. 

i been liking myself like i think i'm pretty.

i've been waking up with my heart inside my chest.  

like it's always been there.

like i've always been full and there ain't nothing to forget. 

i don't be tryna forget nothing lately. 

i want to remember every second of it.

whatever it is.

i'm afraid to call it happy. 

but i won't ever tell it to leave. 

 C. rashawna wilson 2020

[butteronmypen]

the mess just kind of happens.

You read Marie kondo  You rolled the clothes  You choose joy from your pile of things.

Still the joy finds its way back on the floor.  Still the joy is a chaos.  And the wine bottles get opened And  you drink all the joy and chaos away together

The job the friends the annoying exes The resentment the loneliness.

There's always loneliness.

And there is always rage.

Because you still don't know who you are And you're tired of wondering why.  So you pretend it's all gone.

You've gotten good at pretending.

Neatly rolled smiles and conversations. You choose the joy.

You try to choose the joy But even still The mess just kind of happens No matter what, it happens.

Rashawna Wilson

[butteronmypen]

we think pain is love.

we think pain is love.

we love pain like earth love rain.

we love us like come close and go away.

we don’t know what to be or who to say.

but we stay.

we wrapped tight round this unrequited space. 

we steal touch from arms brush we dream kiss from locked gaze. 

we not human we maze we ping pong our emotions, make ball and paddle of words we say. 

angry at the other for always choosing to play.

but we stay.

we too good for this gray. 

we too smart for this fray. 

we don’t know how to love so instead we give pain.

and we think pain is love. 

love pain like earth love rain. 

we say come close and really mean go away.

we know it’s not enough, we know it’s not okay.

but we stay.

C. 2020 Rashawna Wilson

[butteronmypen]

it has been a long long very long year. and i needed the silence. but i am ready to speak now.

i think i'm ready, anyway.

[butteronmypen]

- follow back?

this is a sub-blog. I’ve already followed you back with my main blog “soulll” 

[butteronmypen]

i really dig your caption "i belong wherever i am standing." could i turn that into a quote, please?

by all means, please do. 🙄 much love.

[butteronmypen]

Your poems fill that empty space inside of me. Truly relatable and beautiful. Feel free to check mine out as well :)

i am honored to have my words welcomed into that quiet space within you. thank you! <3 i will definitely check out your poems.

[butteronmypen]

Your poetry should have so many more notes.

thank you beloved! i am often surprised that people still find my blog, but i welcome your encouragement. <3 thank you for reading!

[butteronmypen]

Anila Quayyum Agha exhibit at Aicon Gallery + black girl. :)

[butteronmypen]

major key alert.

let go of the expectation that this could become more than a quick fuck or a quick fix or a something to talk about with the girls on one of those retreat ass sleepovers. you do not have to walk into this. you do not have to accept his half-smile. you can run. you can run far away until your chest is pained and your legs are a burning forest. until you cannot hear him shrieking into the night of your text messages... until you cannot read WYD and HEY BIG HEAD and other wack shit niggas text when nothing but legs are wide open. until you cannot feel his shadow creeping over your heart-- hungry for fuckery. until you are nowhere you can recognize. until you are nowhere comfortable. until you are nowhere, with no one and you feel your lonely holding the back of your neck like a casket... it will be hard...at first. but you will be safe. you will still have you. i know it's been a while since you had you. you may have forgotten what it feels like. i want you to want...to remember. i want you to remember love. C. 2016 Rashawna Wilson

[butteronmypen]

i belong wherever i am standing.

[butteronmypen]

What's your name

Rashawna Wilson :)

[butteronmypen]

adjectives you may use to describe my weight.

call me fat. or plus size. or big girl. or back fat betty. or obese latrisse. or beluga whale. or planet. or mass of molecules making magic. call me girl whose food shows on her body or girl whose pain shows on her body or girl whose body is trying to find itself. call me thighs for days call me leg and arm and ass for days call me a Friday with a capital FRY call me an hour that lasts forever a 2 Liter coke bottle a bottle of thickness a bottle of God’s workmanship. With 30% more awesome for the same lowlow price. do not be afraid to call me what you think I am. I know who I am and who I am not. Last time I tried to fit into a size 6...I might have actually been 6. Last time I tried to fit into another human's standard for me I hadn't learned how to love me. but now i do. I do love me. And I love loving me And I love knowing that loving me ain’t got nothing to do with you, Just like your opinion ain’t got shit to do with me... so you are welcome to call out whatever truth appears to you... because whether you agree or not i always have...and always will be poppin. C. 2016 Rashawna Wilson