I am not a drug dealer.
I am not a seller…
I am not a handler…
I am not an abuser…
I am not a promoter…
I am not a smuggler…
However, I understand that I can not save the world or the people who have chosen those paths. So, making substances safer, grander, and extremely unique is my life’s work. What I have created can’t be duplicated, stepped on, or mistaken for anything else. I’ve curated one thousand eight hundred twenty-seven strands of the purest, rarest white on the market. I am not interested in or addicted to even one of them.
It is not a manufactured substance that I’ve chosen as my drug. It’s a person. A woman. A storm. What she is can’t be duplicated, stepped on, or mistaken for anything else. God curated one strand of the purest, rarest woman on the planet. Her name is Egypt Johanson. She’s faultless. She is flawless. She is pure. And, not even rehab could cure me of my addiction.
I am Chemistry.
I am a Chemist.
The Chemist.
And, I am, in fact, an addict.
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Go tell that nigga you fucking the boss now.
A menace, I was, the duration of my life. Unsure of what was next, who was next, or where I was headed next. The only for-sure shit in my world was my paper and my people. The ice around my heart was still intact, never being penetrated or as much as tapped.
Amazed, I was, the day I encountered you. The perfect analogy for your government, you were cold, Mommas. The impression you left on me heated me to the core, thawing the ice around that red vessel, awakening it from hibernation.
A man on a mission, I became the minute I decided that it was you I wanted to myself, promising to never share you with anyone else. The way you came into my world and brought all your beauty with you gave me little room for error. You made me want to be better. You made me want to be the nigga that woke up each day just to love you, again. You made me want to choose you over and over and over. And, I did.
A mess, I was discovering the world that we created with one another had been infiltrated. Discovering I was no longer invincible and you were touchable flipped a switch so deep in my dome that I didn’t think it was reachable. In the midst of it all, a tear formed, disrupting our bond. Mommas, I’ll spend the rest of my days repairing it –but only after the threat has been neutralized.
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She’s a good girl. And she has a thing for bad boys.
It’s the reason I had to let her go. I knew that I was a mistake she was willing to make over and over again. I loved her too much to hurt her, but that didn’t give anyone else the right to. She’s too pure and too precious. And, I’d do any nigga dirty that dared to play with her heart. I wasn’t even the exception when it came to her. That’s why I knew I had to get my shit together and cater to her heart the way only I could. And until she was mine again, I’d go to war with any nigga, empty my bank accounts, ignite fires between us, sing every love song known to man, and grovel at her feet. Because I wouldn’t rest until she belonged to me.
He’s a heartbreaker. And I’m still recovering from that time he broke mine.
Year after year after year, I trick myself into believing that I’m over it—that I’m over him. Then I see his face, and the feelings we once shared resurface. We were young, and we were in love, but it was a love I was willing to do anything for. He was someone I was willing to do anything for. Suddenly, he decided that my love wasn’t enough. While he went on with his life, mine was always stuck on pause. Then, I decided that love waits for no one and allowed it into my world again. Happiness has found me in the form of a chocolate, successful black man, yet I’m still wondering if I would be even happier with him.
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Cold. The first thing that comes to mind when I think of her.
Why you running from me? The first question comes to mind each time she turns her back on me.
Rigid and cool to the touch, her heart had ice around it. She'd put it in the deepest, darkest hole and dared anyone to try and fetch it. A man who appreciates a challenge took this one on head first. And, with little bruising, I retrieved it.
The red, barely recognizable organ was lifeless. Day by day, I nurtured it, nurtured her, and eventually, it began to beat again. Not just for anyone but for me. Its revival was life's greatest reward.
The victory didn't last very long. My lack of experience with handling something so precious led me to make rookie mistakes, ones that cost me her heart and mine, too.
Different. That's what I believe him to be.
Who sent you after my heart? It's the question that plagued me each time he set out on my path.
His pockets were stuffed, and his accounts were limitless, affording him luxuries that not everyone had when it came to me. He didn't flinch at the notion that he had to pay to play. It enticed him. That was my type. He was my type. But he knew no boundaries.
His quest commenced the second our eyes met, my body hypnotizing him and everyone else in the room around us. Sadly, they were a blur. All I saw was him. Tenacity was his specialty. He was as confident as he was persistent, tireless in his efforts to retrieve the one part of me that I'd buried for safekeeping. And, once he had it in his grasp, like every other man I'd shamefully given it to, he crushed it.