poems
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Memories
Nostalgia’s a nauseating sickness like four little girls still trying to tear down the brick painted on the sides of their heads Pocketbook scriptures still dangling from underneath their tongues like a scorched covenant under burned fingernails still trying to get me to remember Truth be queasy like first trimesters be painful like birth pains… Continue reading
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Why I Write Truth
Because the world is a violent one and screaming death a song so routine is its lyrics crooked notes twisted and then dropped like lifeless bodies a glass vase shattering crackling like fire on the mountain and no one seems to be on the run I write truth because its better to spill ink than blood… Continue reading
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Dear Poetry
I wish I can take your words and carve them into the sky as if you alone was the cement at the fingertips of the Almighty wish I can breathe life into your nostrils like I held onto the strings stapled to the backs of the wind Dear poetry, I wish I can copyright your… Continue reading
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Outside The Box
It is seeing the good where good exist and the bad too without regard to person or persona It is passion existing in a universe where truth is the only color that matters it is black balled fist into the air minus the badge of branding black power to legitimize blackness it is denouncing blackness… Continue reading
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Erased
I dreamed in my mind that the Earth seemed to never move and the ships that sailed on it were slow and quite they never sounded their horns or went “Chu! Chu!” the wind never blew the stars never popped out of the sky like silk sheets and the thunder never growled its teeth the fish sat silent still alone even they refused to move just waited until the land came home all of it everything was gone the people were like zombies in every town they went about their daily routines but from sun up to sun down no one made a sound it was deception they decided to take it either that or I’m lost in the matrix surrounded by people that when they opened their mouths it seemed they faked it they would walk right through me and then walk into the streets as if with their eyes they could not see I dreamed the worst dream no more sun beaming down no more dirt covering this hallow ground instead I feel as though I am among graves people who walk around as if with no brains but as I stop and I’m staring a dead man in his face I realize that these people have been spiritually erased. Continue reading
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If My Books Shall Die – Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writing Challenge
Hello there love bugs. So, today’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday Writer’s Challenge as hosted by Colleen and Ronovan, is on the topic of OBSESSION (*imagines drum sound in head*). But, here’s the thing guys, I couldn’t really find, or think, of a quote on obsession I really liked. Soooo… instead I wrote a poem. If My… Continue reading
