Category: Poetry

Princess

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Didn’t know the whole world was mine…my princess self….

didn’t know bout this crown on my head,

just death and pain till the winds got tired of blowing on me….

said it was time for the branch to be lifting my chin from the ground so lest I could see what the sky looks like…

held me in his arms like orange autumns in September…

fresh air, cool and breezy like.

Diamond in The Ruff

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I decided to seek strength when pain took it upon herself to become the choir director of humanity

in an anxious quest to play doubt on the strings of our faith she laughs…

coughing up the twisted humor of her bowels you see she knows

that our minds have been twisted by the craftiness of sin still falling from the fingerprints of Eve and  Hiding behind the shame of Adam she knows
The ease to which we are apt to scream we’re not able like the blood of Abel, that at times
our lowliest moments give us in to unbelief like virgins vulnerable to the sensitivity of fleshly skin
Faith giving it up like cracking levees… overflowing with trial & struggle she laughs while you drown in sins pain made you promise to go back to

but you tell pain that we are not bed sheets fitted to the corners of her pride

We are not fools, babbling vain words in her congregation

We are not faithless because of her existence

Tell pain that we wait for her

like crouching tigers with gritted teeth

you tell sorrow that with much wisdom comes much grief

tell her, that we are not children

borne about by every sickness breathed from the viruses she plants in our immune systems 4 we are strong

you tell pain that from her humility is born

like truth when it touched its hands on the insides of Miriam’s womb, the Salvation brought forth from pain

a stake of stabbing wounds
You tell pain that the almighty made sure that everything had its companion

You tell pain…

that Endurance was made for her

Never Having Been a Girl

This poem is based on a true story. A sista I know  requested I write a poem based on her childhood. And after hearing her testimony, this is the result.

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Silence lingers on every street corner of her heart
surrounded by the sounds of her own heartbeat
the only child
who knew that loneliness could be so loud?
Never remembering ever being a girl
womanhood emerging from her mother’s womb
responsibilities following her home wrapped in soft blankets and warm booties
yet infancy is kicked off too soon
removed
and replaced with scavenger instincts
tearing away at empty cupboards
hope falling asleep like heroine nods
quickly replaced with the tears of a three year old
silence tearing away at the soft eardrums of a toddler’s pride
never remembering ever being a girl
Quick paces of little feet turned nine
gotta get the cigarettes on time
crowded streets
little feet
unknown eyes that are watching me
(at least somebody’s watching me)
careful now these little feet
having never been a girl
Twelve times twelve,
twelve arrives
sadness in mommies cancer eyes
watch him do it and do it right
gotta give the medicine exactly right
the internal cries of that youthful voice (never really having been young)
somebody please tell me,
where is mommies tongue?
gotta carry cause mommies gone
will someone sing her daughters song?
The woman with the pink ribbons in her curls
the woman never having been a girl
Restaurants to wash myself
weed and drinks cause I watch myself
who cares for cute sinks when nothings left
seems like childhood just up and left
me sitting beside myself
empty benches now colored with the stench of my pain
smelly armpits reach out to beg for change
while relatives sit at home and count my change
whose willing to see this woman change?
Never having been a girl
Hustle proved its source of love
where does an instant woman find true love?
inside the arms of an abusive man she seeks her refuge from lazy hands
money giving light to dark places
apartment buildings giving substance to misplacement’s
where
where has it gone? My love? Where’s your part?
where oh where have you hidden my heart?
Numbers fade away like living water upon dirty dishes
this daughter of mine the result of these stitches
Entering the world as if she owns it!
Gotta hope another woman has not entered this world
praying my first child has the chance to at least,
just be
a girl.

Lines

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A woman by a wall painted with Revolutionary Poetry, in London, 1970s Richard Braine/PYMCA (from ‘Unordinary People: A celebration of British youth culture’)

Indefinite streaks of infinity running in one direction
words spilled over into cups of inspiration overflowing with obsession
so she writes
hurrying to let go of the pain caught in the palms of her hands
when
raindrops washed away dirt only to leave blisters of unspoken words on racing lines
how will she ever catch up?
Not talented enough to open her mouth in time to swallow the air so that she may catch her breath
not enough lines left over for exhausted words to sit and to wait
so what do I tell her?
what advice is there available for the woman with bleeding hands and a song to sing?
what kind of shoes are necessary to ensure that she keeps running in the same direction the lines are running
and
how many times
how many times must the caged bird write before she sings?
What advice shall be given to the one behind enemy lines?
Somewhere within the margins of the page
on the WRITE side of the RIGHT side
tell her
to stop hiding under her notebook
Tell her blue lines are not running they’re waiting
to search for similes beneath the surface
like
question marks these lines are empty on purpose
cuz
spoken words are not written they’re spoken on purpose
you tell her ….
this water didn’t come from raindrops in the sky
but the raindrops underneath her eye
-lids
Tell her it’s OK
to cry
even her messiah did
Cuz deeply emotional is the truth
and hearts aint bullet proof
but these lines
tell her these lines are waiting for her to get there
blank paper anticipate being stabbed in the chest
and wait for the blood you call ink to transform into the familiar alphabets the world has grown to love
called words
Indefinite streaks of infinity running in one direction
skillful lines
waiting
2 be heard

Pre-Conceived Notions

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the first time we met, I stood knee deep in lust
took advantage of your smile
never thought I would fall for it
too young to realize I’ve just never met a man before
dancing in your eyes
willing
to gamble my last just for a chance to see you again
your words,
so elegant that I thought deception wrapped its arms around my waist
tried
to convince me our love was nothing but child play
planned
to hold nothing in my heart but a piece of your gaze
and now
just maybe
you’ll let me kiss the anger from your voice
babysit your thoughts in my lap
let you feed on the wisdom of my breast
and we’ll dance neck up in peace & tranquility

Guest Feature – Fear Itself Is Undefined by Bianca Flores

I lay on my bed soaking my pillow with my tears,
I try to remember exactly what it is that I fear.
Is it the passing of time or the love that I lack?
Is it the mistakes that I’ve made or the fact that I can’t bring the past back?
What is it that I’m afraid of?
Why am I so scared?
Is it the people I’ve hurt or the people that have hurt me?
Am I afraid of everything that I cant seem to see?
Is it the love of a friend, or the loss of my family?
Is it the possibility that my life can end in a tragedy?
What is it that I fear most?
What do my eyes say I’m scared of?
Is it the sun that sets but won’t seem to rise?
Is it the hope that I have that always seems to die?
Is it the trust of a person that I cannot begin to grasp?
Is it all the memories of my horrid past?
Is it me?
Can it possibly be that the thing I fear most is the thing I can’t be?
The things that I try to understand?
The me that I try to be with when I’m feeling sad?
The person I’m expected to be? Is that what I fear? . . .
I think the thing I fear most . . .is me

– Poem written by Bianca Flores