Stains on his collar from my purple lipstick…

Reblog from

This poem is actually about an interesting daydream I had.  Funny thing is…I own purple lipstick.  I just never wear it.  Dedicated to my Revlon #663 VaVa Violet lipstick.  Sitting on the sidelines waiting for action.

I think of my old love life like it’s double dutch.

Try to catch the rhythm as the ropes swing,

Bounce to the beat each time they hit the ground.

Thing about me is?  I never really learned to double dutch.

I only learned to bounce.

You know.  Go with the motions.

Sway like you’re about to jump in and do something amazing.

I was either trying to jump into things that I was never in sync with.

Or I would trip and give up.

I would retreat to single roping it.

Felt so often like I was doing all the work by my damn self, in that way.

Then.  Well.  I got busy.  I no longer had time for playground games.

Eyes on the prize.  Priorities are the bottom line.

Had no time to jump rope for heart.

Double dutch or otherwise.

But what they don’t tell you about cardiovascular health

Is that you can ignore it as much as you want,

The matters of your heart and its health just don’t go away.

So I laced up my All-Stars one day.  Put my hair up in pixie tails.

Popped in some bubble yum and went back the old stomping ground.

But this time?  Double dutch just wasn’t my gig.

I wanted to chill out.  I wanted to be in motion, not go through the motions.

I wanted to feel the wind and see the sky past the trees.

I wanted to pump my legs until I reached high speeds

And feel my heart race as I fell toward the ground.

I wanted to feel the lock of the chains as the swing swept me up toward the sky.

But like always the street lights would come on, and to be practical was to be safe.

And to be safe was to get my ass back home before the street lights came on.

So like those street lights, reality came on.

And like momma said, my ass was back home.

Sitting, staring, contemplating.

And wondering.

Have you ever closed your eyes and felt your face brush against another persons?

That cheek to cheek graze that’s tense and affectionate at the same time.

When you can feel their heartbeat as if it were a gentle pulse against your skin?

When you breathe in the same meter and each exhale lingers until all of your air is spent?

When you inhale and smell your scents mixed together and think to yourself

“This is perfect”?

Have you ever been fully clothed and in such an intense moment that you didn’t really give a damn about getting naked?

You didn’t even want to pull away; you were content with all of the “being” that was going on.

Well, that’s my swing.

That’s my daydream.

The smell of his cologne on my clothes.

Feeling the hairs on his face brush against my cheek.

Searching the lines in his hands with my finger tips.

Stains on his collar from my purple lipstick.


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