Live Words

Anoint my imagination with the personification of sound
let it walk its way through my memories so we may build dreams as infinite as the sky
bless my brain with a physical manifestation of text
do not speak to me
or translate my feelings into emoticons
but metamorph into the vibration you wish to kiss upon the air
my brain knows nothing of the perception your voice wishes to thrust upon it
knows nothing of the influence illuminating from your lips like pulsing heartbeats
but can I feel you?
can I taste the odor of sadness or touch the lines of focus creeping upon your face
can I decipher the laughter sliding down the back of your throat
will your actions cover me in its hands and bring me into its bosom
or will I risk the sloppily handled trust you left laying next to the distorted frequencies coming out of your mouth
can I take this moment and bond with the authenticity of your words
do you live them
or will they melt away on the palates of your tongue
will they be sweet to the bones, bursting forth like conception but without birth
will we ever get to see the ripened ovaries of flowers with seeds
will we taste the pressure of fruit when it collides with living words
dance with the displacement of mechanical waves
and love
will we love?
or will your words fall barren against the crackling darkness of a cloudy heart
when I read your words can I hear them?
will you speak words

or will you live them?

Un-Pretty

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She was fourteen when the uglies came
fourteen when she realized that she was un-pretty
You see her mom’s mother’s mother,
and her mother before that
began the process of digestion that would take place through generational blood cells that rejected what they considered…the uglies.
so she regurgitated this face given her by some fierce creator the moment her life began recycling the cycle of teens who refuse to simply look in the mirror
Why should she?
For the laying on of verbal hands became saliva that practiced the breaking down of insults that made this decision mushy, and easy to swallow
and proactive never helped out,
pushing indoctrination further into her mouth until she has no other choice but to chew smooth skin and straight hair with her teeth
was it her fault?
that when she looked in the mirror a strange girl is all she could see
and positive comments slid off of her chocolate skin like empty belief.
Satisfaction never molding this face into something she could see
Beauty
never pushing its mushed up reality down the back of her throat
this
pretty stuff
never making it through adolescence
never making it through to the esophagus
Un-pretty
It was all she’s known and all she could see
never mind her thought process to ever enter the second portion of the digestive tract
for she was stuck
stuck in a world where beauty rocked air force ones and apple bottom jeans
the prettiest trading her cookies in for a better face
this
pretty little face
or that celebrities were simply pretty little liars
because beauty never came with a price
Un-pretty
It was simply a disease, an infection
moving confidence back to the ugly shaped tears that arose in her throat
that generations of house slaves would teach her to stomach
this mushed up ball of ugly too weak to form strong muscles that could stop it from mixing around images of Beyoncé and her sister Solange,
muscles
that could not stop it from becoming pretty plastic properties of Nicki Minaj
WHO forgot to tell this sista…
That in her world of pretty,
pretty was really
un-pretty?

Power of Words

Do you not know that your words declare to the world who you are?

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I’m starting to understand more and more the power we have as individuals and how we so readily give this power away with the speed of thought. One of the reasons I happen to love words is for the power that they hold. When you speak your words begin to act upon what has been spoken, in other words they live. Poetry then becomes such an attractive art because it’s not just the reading and reciting of words, but it’s the emotion and exact senses that encompasses the words that are spoken. I sometimes find it hard to really judge poetry because it’s such a personal part of the poet and there are so many different kinds of styles and tones. But the kind of poetry I really fall for is the delicious kind, the tasty kind; the kind of poetry that speaks so personally to the reader / listener that we will believe that this poem was a gift specifically granted to us. When I read a poem about running I want to feel your heartbeat, I want your breath to brush upon my cheeks; I want my feet to ache from the unforgiving concrete of the ground. I want to feel you as if I invaded your body only to live in your existence for the remainder of the poem. I want to be one with you on that intimate level. If you possess power, when you speak then so should I. That’s the kind of poetry that inspires me, and I must say the kind of writing as well; the kind that possesses power. I always encourage new poets to make sure their delivery is superb. Writing is in many ways the easy part, but when you approach an audience make sure they can feel what you felt when you wrote that poem. Don’t tell me its poetry, just paint poetic justice against the backdrop of heavy keystrokes. Let me “bathe in the blank wake of your passion and be kissed by white paper” (Mark Strand). Far as general speech is concerned we have to learn to stop being so sensitive. Nothing others do or say is always about you. Whether that’s blogging, writing, posting, etc, when we stop worrying about how others see us we can then stop being the victims of needless suffering. The power of words always comes back to self and what self is willing and not willing to allow in his / her space. A lot of the negativity we walk around with is due our own making, it is simply made up of elements we allowed to come in. We are thus bearing the burden of self inflicted scars, but we  should never let anyone dilute the power of our words. I’m realizing now that whenever we say that we “can’t” do something, we unconsciously weaken ourselves just a little bit more than we were just moments before. How much worse when we allow the words of others to do the same.

You Don’t Wanna Know

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“…the instrument behind all this poetry…..yea…U don’t really wanna know bout the degradation it took to straighten my pen into this position…what it took to have the courage to wear my feelings on my sleeves….and to bleed words for a living.”

Coffee and Car Keys

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Two things always made me think of adulthood when I was a kid: Coffee and Car Keys.
I always loved holding the keys in my hand after returning from some car visit I was sent to by relatives. It made me feel adult, as if I was actually the one driving. I think mentally I associated it with adulthood because every time adults came around they had car keys in their hand! Or maybe it was because it gave them the freedom to come and go. In any event, I came to hold my head up a little higher whenever I could walk around with those keys.

Coffee also reminded me of adulthood. It seemed that it was something that only grown-ups were allowed to do. If they weren’t drinking coffee they were drinking liquor lol. All this represented adulthood for me.

 
Feel free to list some of the things that reminded you of adulthood when you were a kid.

 

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