Mind
“Clarity is not loud. It arrives when the noise stops.”
Just In Time
A moment of timing, attention, and arrival.
Hello—my accent echoed.
“Where you from?”
(honey-bronze, brown skin, thick ting).
New Jersey.
“Oh yeah, what part?”
She seemed older—
and I’m addicted to older jawns.
Englewood.
“Oh yeah, my brother—
ATP!”
(This where I tune out,
’cause I don’t give a fuck.)
In my head I’m like,
I just wanna see you turn around.
“Oh yeah, that’s nice.”
“Hey, you live around here?”
Yes, ma’am.
“Hi, my name is—”
Wide hips,
ass fitting the ass-to-waist ratio.
I’m starting to get impatient though.
She seems nice.
Let’s bag it, wrap it, taste the moment.
“My name’s Jhusten—
just in time.”
The When
I’m not in love with you.
I’m in love with the when—
the way a moment passes between two people
and quietly becomes something else.
I’m not in love with you.
I’m in love with the when.
When you walk by—
not looking for permission.
When you smile,
like it wasn’t rehearsed.
When that chip on your shoulder shows
just long enough to tell the truth
about where you’ve been.
When you say “excuse me,”
and I move.
And when I look back
and you say “thank you,”
like you noticed I did.
What We Never Sat Down to Say
Love wasn’t the problem.
Communication was.
We kept fixing cracks but never repainted the wall.
“Distance reveals what closeness couldn’t.”
I wasn’t just trying to bust a nut.
Our children were made out of love.
But when it’s us—
it’s my kids this,
my kids that.
You ain’t shit.
You don’t do nothing for these kids.
Your mom bald-headed.
Your sister a bitch.
You ain’t shit.
After all this, I realized—
love was never the fix.
We filled the cracks,
plastered the holes,
but never repainted the wall.
Why does this always happen on Sundays?
Some days you’re okay.
Not manic.
I don’t understand what this is,
but I keep telling myself
we will manage.
We were damaged
way before we met.
In your family, it felt like everybody
already knew all the answers.
After all these years,
nobody knew you were schizophrenic?
On top of bipolar disorder?
Who was supposed to have your back?
Your brother and sister didn’t even like you.
Everybody said you were crazy.
I didn’t care about none of that.
This is the mother of my children.
I met my first son
a day after he was born.
A month later,
I was on child support.
I couldn’t pay
because I was home with him
while everybody else was trying
to buy into my presence.
A month later,
I got locked up.
Already in arrears.
We never sat down.
We never talked about this.
Why do you always insult me
instead of talking?
Everybody knew—
except me.
That’s how it’s always been.
That’s why I hate surprises.
Because it’s always
some bad shit.
“Oh, she ain’t crazy.
She ain’t crazy.”
Who wakes up at 4 a.m.
to harass you
about something that happened
ten years ago?
Now everybody in your family
a bitch and a hoe.
Everybody baby ugly.
And some more shit.
Thirty days later,
you smiling and laughing
with the same people
you was just talking about.
“I’m not a real man.”
How do you say that
when everything I’ve done since we met
shows otherwise?
I broke my spine for Christmas
so my children could have everything.
Your mother said I was faking.
I never knew
what you really meant.
Do you only feel that way
on your manic days?
Or do you feel that way
on your good days too?
Unhesitant
This piece is about attraction without apology—confidence rooted in preference, admiration expressed without fear, and desire that respects intellect as much as form.
“I don’t borrow confidence.
I bring it.””
You thick as shit,
and I ain’t hesitant.
Let them other niggas look—
I ain’t scared of it.
I like females that are feminine—
glasses, protective hairstyles,
moves with elegance, talks with intelligence,
corrects me when I’m wrong
or misspelling shit.
Makes me feel relevant.