Parallel

up & down

everything about love feels up
and its breast can only fill a cup
how lowly I feel
is an evening meal.
today your words hurt
like when my fingers make you spurt.
I am tired of rhyming with pain,
aren’t you filled with the rain
that comes with hailstones of headaches?
even my finger aches
from punching the ground to open.
this little black boy feels broken.
I’m seeking rest, I’ll remain down
love for us is not meant to drown.

Ruddapoet