Original Poetry: Buttercream

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Buttercream by Maliyah McDonald

I was just trying to survive when I met her.

I, a burning monument turned memorial.

Begging for praise,

Praise I knew I wasn’t deserving of,

Let alone ready for.

I was broken.

And she,

A radiant siren.

And though her life didn’t scream


I knew I had to at least make a cameo.

I now wonder was she broken too?

Never the less we collided,

Like drizzle on window panes,

Resembling spastically placed rain drops,

Spontaneously being placed in one another’s realm.

Slowly but surely, bound to trickle down

and collide.

And when we did,


She left me gasping for air that I was sure

my lungs were full of.

Being that I’ll never make it to heaven,

The closest I’ll get is her love.

She baffles.

I have so many questions for her, yet they always come out as statements.

See she’s smooth and beautiful,

Like velvet, but, just like velvet,

No one knows where she came from,

Or what she’s made of.

What are you my love?

She doesn’t just hold my eyes.

She has substance, something like honey,

Something like butter cream.

Have you ever met a woman like buttercream?

A storm of a woman in her tranquilest form.

Calm, dangerous, mesmerizing.

One who dresses your brain in hurricane,

So now all you can hear is the crash of her voice,

Upon the shore.

Have you ever met a woman like buttercream?

One whose smile is so much more interesting than her thighs.

A woman whose soul feels like stolen Saharan sunrises.

A north Nile kind of goddess,

Who feeds your soul like old Ethiopian soil.

My love,

I have all types of encrypted hieroglyphics

Of the things I want to do to you.

The first being falling victim to your storm.

Engulf me.

I’ll go willingly.

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Original Poetry: Buttercream