A blank faced lyric
how dull is the stare of a ball point pen
bleeding empty
This collection of words all myth in mouth
colorful descriptions
that cannot pierce the skin
or cut the bone and tendons of image
What lay beyond the composition of a word undefined
What triviality is a tasteless meal
What kind of food is this
What scarlet
What fine silk
What significance are thoughts under ball pointed pens
that have no pixel
And cannot paint
That cannot walk across the bottomless ocean of sing
Cannot sing this gut
What rebellious tongue
What confusing blood from bleeding pens
Something strange these destinations duplicate
Copied vision
No fire
No engines and bare fist
No fight beyond the pretty
No pretty beyond the picture
twisted mouths
no open minds
Do you mind?
writing me a picture
viewable beyond my eyes
write me something I can see
with my gut
and feel underneath my skin
no just sound good
no just feel euphoria
but write me a picture
beyond ball pointed pens
and pixels
Category: Poetry
Courage
I know that it is never easy
to wear scarlet letters on your skin
to take history
and C-section her calendars
for the stories
that didn’t make it
until you find the authenticity
of truth
like consciousness
beautiful
but delicate
see through
and cutting
like shattering glass
piercing the spirit
and slicing through flesh and bone
so no one looks at the news the same
but for those of you
who have cherished her summers
kissed her springs
embraced the coldest winters ever
and dared to wear her degradation
on your lips
for your courage to find the other pieces
of her
the parts society is too fearful
of hearing
she bathes in your smile
because you loved her, truth
saw her delicate
and fragile
torn between the additions
and subtractions
that multiplied her sorrows
until her parts were divided
ripping her reality from the pages of scripture
like confused tongues
and babblings
snatching her away
from the breast of wisdom
like coal painted faces
minstrel shows
whitewashed genesis
cream-colored pharaohs
but she is not interested
that you feel sorry for her
history
she needs not of your pride
not of your bonafie hustlers
in prophet suits
not of your street corners
not of your liquor stores
not even of your religion
for her stone coated roses are too heavy
to place upon your caskets
for even in death
you have honored yourself
above her
truth
needs not of your chocolate bars
for history is tired of eating
she is sick
to the brim
with prophecies
and worries
and concerns
and birth pains
over those who wear her burden
like the colors of their skins
but she is thankful
that they have chosen to rather be humiliated
than to deny her
and this poem
is for all
their bravery.
When We Were Colored
I…
I remember when we were colored.
Proud I was of this “African American” staring me in the face.
Cause see
no one could tell me
that even if this dark skin could travel many seas
I couldn’t sniff a whiff of this American dream.
My skin tone a mere distraction
stacked tall with affirmative action of pity and lost hope
Back then,
when none of these psychotic nurses could tell us
that we were only colored because of the curses.
And this is not just my story
it’s his-story
when we were colored
and our minds were locked down,
enslaved with some of the heaviest chains of emancipation
but ask a group of students who look like me
about the father of many nations,
and I guarantee you zero participation.
Cause we were colored
And when you’re colored the truth is blinded by reflections
visions of spiritual malnutrition
and pretend faiths that we are afraid to admit
still exist in us.
Because the truth of the matter is that many of us are still colored
And I have to say it has nothing to do with color,
but shades of old men and women rearing ugly heads from the grave
once more
to remind us of our worldly twins
who
refuse to stay drowned.
However the secret lies inside the depths of men’s hearts,
for these old men rise up because of our thirst to keep them there
in the past
when we were taught to reverence their forefathers
instead of our own tribes
when we were soldiers
when we were toddlers
back in the day…
when we were colored.
Rest
I wanna turn off my brain. Not completely, just enough to gather my breath and lay it at the head of the bed….a temporary moment to which renewal finds itself back to my pillow; to which I may die, and in the same second be reborn. I want my eyes to bow in submission to my bones, and my soul to fall slowly to the contours of this mattress….and for a second pretend that the world has crumbled around me. For a second, for just a moment, let me lay my body at the foot of sleep’s doorstep, pretend to swim with the clouds, and in the same moment…. taste of rejuvenation’s delicacies.
Encoded
Certain memories won’t let you forget
they rush before the forefront of your mind
like messages that escaped the past
only to cement themselves inside you
climb their way through blood vessels
encoded experiences written in our DNA
for thoughts do not disappear
do not evaporate from the mind
only to fall short in the abyss of nothingness
they’re instead a strand of silent data
entwined within the past and the present that is you
and sometimes, the future too
encoded memories
they erupt old wounds like falling planes
in smoke filled clouds
a twin tower sacrifice for your humility
a taste of truth for our memories
a thorn in the side
encoded data
so we never forget what falling feels like.
I Promise You a Woman
I know what kind of girls you’re used to.
I know that
kindergarten fingers on small hands don’t know how to hold you
like I do see
she pushes buttons on your heart like that
cause she’s not hip to the fact that a man can lose focus too
but see she’s just a little girl
so she plays catch with your emotions
cause she feels that if she hits you hard enough
you’ll start coughing up tokens for her to play games with
see
I know that your body to these little girls is merely a myth
And every trip to your mouth is a quiz
enveloped in living water that she ain’t learned how to swim in yet
so she apologizes for getting lost in your kiss
and every vibration of your body simply doesn’t make sense to her
and every word of truth coming from your lips is like a puzzle
that she ain’t figured out yet
and she’s insecure because what she’s selling has failed
and its cause the way you love to her is reminiscent of fairy tales
see
they mistake my trust for you as some kind of façade
don’t know what a real man is so they think you are a God to me
mistaken the heavenly embrace of your arms for wings
cause I told ‘em I’m willing to fly away with you
and they mistakenly discern that you grant me wishes like the milky ways
and the stars
cause they see me praying for you
and your mind they can’t dissect
your ways are hidden from them like the life of tiny insects
so she dismisses you as too perfect and she ain’t ready for all that yet
you’re just too nice for her
yea, I know what kind of girls you’re used to
But what I promise you
Is a woman
I promise you support sweeter than any tea you could fathom
I promise you words of love and not temper tantrums
I promise to be strong so when it comes to bearing my burdens you don’t have to
Because I promise to help and not hinder you
I promise to cry tears on your shoulders so I can properly communicate with you
And I promise to bear soldiers and little soliderettes for you
You see I promise not to walk in your shoes
cause I’m woman enough to know that you’re the head of me
And like the neck I support you
Cause what I promise you
I promise you, not a little girl,
but what I promise you
is a woman.
Guest Feature – Alone
Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
There are some millionaires
With money they can’t use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They’ve got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Now if you listen closely
I’ll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
‘Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
– Maya Angelou, Alone
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