Kymmie The Writer

I knew he had them hot and rugged finger tips-
from the time he playfully brushed them through my hair.
but this time they felt different
When he touched me down there…”

She was sitting with me at a bar, the place was empty, probably about 6 people in there including us and the bartender. My friend was a beautiful Black woman, her hair natural, pulled back into a bun in the back of her head. Her face almost always owned a scowl, she was usually angry. But today she looked like she was 10 years old. Her features mirrored innocence, not the kind of that you see from kids running around laughing on playgrounds, but more like a child who looked down to hide the fact that she had been hurt by someone she had loved. I nudged her and asked her was she okay, she finally looked up and…

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