I am…..
Toxic
Poison
Venomous
Deadly
Woman
I…
am Woman.
My touch is toxic.
Everything I hold between these hands is instantly my entity.
My hands have meticulously inspected each grain of sand that
Father Time fucked Mother Nature on
so now they know exactly how a super nova feels
when suspended between natural explosions.
These palms preliminarily produce predominately progressive prophecies.
They know the secrets of secrets
mastered the art of being mysterious,
sensual,
powerful
encrypted and gifted,
toxic and oh so talented.
though deadly
My pulse is poisonous.
Life’s elixirs flow through vessels that braid into patterns underneath this exterior.
Veins be hungry so I feed them ink,
and let it bleed into pulmonary arteries.
I carry stories in these elixirs.
Poison has never tasted this lovely.
My vernacular is venomous.
My tongue will leave you stunned.
Standing in awe of how beautifully you’ve just been ear fucked.
Eardrum cumin poetic scriptures into your cerebral
I’ll leave you so addicted
to what my bic did
that you’re forced to perform silent soliloquies on lonely nights
when I can’t be found wreaking microphones.
Trust me,
these fangs wound deeply
so be easy…..
I walk with purpose
wife of Earth,
widowed before father time saw fit…
which makes the moon my bastard
these stars are my grandchildren
disowned by Sun.
rivers are jealous of me
“Their children sing the blues”
“I am weaving a song of water”
And oh what a tangled web I weave.
Intertwining history with pieces of hearts and souls lost
I watched me…
made into a martyr before my own eyes.
I didn’t choose it,
but for now I’ll accept it
carry broken on belly,
hands drenched in the blood of souls.
Red as love lost that leaks from these branches.
Damn it I hate this,
I mean made this,
I’m blameless
nameless
faceless
so face this.
I am
a constant reminder of the woman I came from.
Powerful,
and deadly.
I was born from this.
It courses through my being
like my soul was made of ether
spirit on fire,
pupils made into nitrogen bombs,
it’s so easy for me to give you death stares isn’t it?
My tears are corrosive,
they have the power to eat through any hard exterior you my present to me.
I am all of these things.
Destined to become
since the day her teeth pierced through ripe skin
though I was never really that found of apples…
I will wipe this juice from full lips.
I’ve learned how to live with me.
So beware of the things you can’t understand
let alone control.
The chrysalis phase is over,
I bare wings lined with razor blades
I emerged from the flames of my own rage.
Choked on the feathers I plucked from my own wings.
I grew to be this
Venomous Vixen
Poison Princes
Toxic Temptress
deadly and beautiful
I am.
Words motivate me to move mountains. Cast light into the shadows that hang darkness over my valley. I construct cathedrals of conscious thought. Move me… Flow through this thicket of thought and caress purpose. Feel me… I am hidden in plain view. Waiting for you to stop trying to use your eyes to catch a glimpse of vision. See me… A rarity like daylight accented by the moon. I have so many stories for you to stroll through…
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Lullabies
I heard them again last night.
They sung to me….
exploded me to sleep.
My deathly lullabies held me-
prisoner of my own mind,
but I’m use to this now…
Bombs,
Bullets,
and Bodies.
Coughs,
Caskets,
and Crying.
Body Bags and Flags.
7 guns firing 21 shot
I died 3 times before I woke up.
I was told that the internet would be the death of me.
Little did I know that the grim reaper was hiding in the curves
of the words that formed that status.
I swear…
I read it,
and wanted the whole damn internet to crash.
Erase the words,
erase the truth,
but truth be told you couldn’t even tell me to my face.
And despite your apologies,
you not telling me hurt more than actually knowing.
How the hell could I concentrate on competing
when I felt like I had already lost my perfect poem.
And this…
this would be our life.
Me on stages trying to avoid bad scores and biters,
while you’re trying to avoid bullets and snipers.
Heart beats beat
beat
BANG like gun shots.
and you have a war at home.
Baby if you wanted to wake up to death threats,
then you should have just told me.
I can do that from here.
You should’ve known that I would always stand behind your decisions.
Even now,
I stand behind your decisions,
but these visions keep messing with me.
Sometimes I don’t know if I’m awake,
or sleeping.
the only way to differentiate between the 2 is the screaming-
I remember the first night I woke screaming
body shaking,
sweat dripping off me like the shells from emptied clips
I choked on your last breath
and your life replayed its self over in my fears.
Heart beats beat
beat
bang.
Beat
Beat
Bang
Beat
Click Clack
BANG like assault rifles
Keep your arm steady.
No hesitations.
Ready,
aim…
My ears are ringing.
These lullabies are deafening,
but I can still hear the whispers of your “I love you’s”
so don’t worry,
this gun powder doesn’t taste so bad when it’s transferred from your lips.
I’ll stand here,
and watch the bomb burst brilliantly beneath the brown and blue surfaces of your irises.
Remember where you come from.
Remember that you have a pulse identical to mine.
Don’t ever feel alone,
I’ll be here.
I told you I’d be here.
When have I never not been here?
I understand…
You don’t want to have to struggle,
but you shouldn’t do this for the money.
You want me to be happy,
I am.
Always will be as long as we are synched by reverberating beats that dance from chest cavities.
Heart beats beat
beat
Bang!
Do you remember the first time you told me you loved?
Bang!
The first time that you kissed me?
Bang!
The first time that you touched me?
Bang!
What about the first time that you left me?
BANG!
Heart beats beat
beat
Bang!
That night you needed me to hold you?
Bang!
The first time you came to me crying over her?
Bang!
What about the first time that you’ll have to look into the eyes of a child the same age that our son should’ve have been and…
Heart beats beat
beat
bang.
Beat
Beat
Bang
Beat
Click Clack
sing like piano keys.
There are symphonies that I have hidden for you in every letter of every word that I have ever written on blank sheets of our past memories,
all you have to do is listen.
I heard them again last night,
did you?
They sung to me….
exploded me to sleep.
My deathly lullabies held me-
prisoner of my own mind,
but I’m use to this now…
Bombs,
Bullets,
and Bodies.
Coughs,
Caskets,
and Crying.
Body Bags and Flags.
7 guns firing 21 shot
I died 3 times before I woke up.
I was told that the internet would be the death of me.
Little did I know that the grim reaper was hiding in the curves
of the words that formed that status.
I swear…
I read it,
and wanted the whole damn internet to crash.
Erase the words,
erase the truth,
but truth be told you couldn’t even tell me to my face.
And despite your apologies,
you not telling me hurt more than actually knowing.
How the hell could I concentrate on competing
when I felt like I had already lost my perfect poem.
And this…
this would be our life.
Me on stages trying to avoid bad scores and biters,
while you’re trying to avoid bullets and snipers.
Heart beats beat
beat
BANG like gun shots.
and you have a war at home.
Baby if you wanted to wake up to death threats,
then you should have just told me.
I can do that from here.
You should’ve known that I would always stand behind your decisions.
Even now,
I stand behind your decisions,
but these visions keep messing with me.
Sometimes I don’t know if I’m awake,
or sleeping.
the only way to differentiate between the 2 is the screaming-
I remember the first night I woke screaming
body shaking,
sweat dripping off me like the shells from emptied clips
I choked on your last breath
and your life replayed its self over in my fears.
Heart beats beat
beat
bang.
Beat
Beat
Bang
Beat
Click Clack
BANG like assault rifles
Keep your arm steady.
No hesitations.
Ready,
aim…
My ears are ringing.
These lullabies are deafening,
but I can still hear the whispers of your “I love you’s”
so don’t worry,
this gun powder doesn’t taste so bad when it’s transferred from your lips.
I’ll stand here,
and watch the bomb burst brilliantly beneath the brown and blue surfaces of your irises.
Remember where you come from.
Remember that you have a pulse identical to mine.
Don’t ever feel alone,
I’ll be here.
I told you I’d be here.
When have I never not been here?
I understand…
You don’t want to have to struggle,
but you shouldn’t do this for the money.
You want me to be happy,
I am.
Always will be as long as we are synched by reverberating beats that dance from chest cavities.
Heart beats beat
beat
Bang!
Do you remember the first time you told me you loved?
Bang!
The first time that you kissed me?
Bang!
The first time that you touched me?
Bang!
What about the first time that you left me?
BANG!
Heart beats beat
beat
Bang!
That night you needed me to hold you?
Bang!
The first time you came to me crying over her?
Bang!
What about the first time that you’ll have to look into the eyes of a child the same age that our son should’ve have been and…
Heart beats beat
beat
bang.
Beat
Beat
Bang
Beat
Click Clack
sing like piano keys.
There are symphonies that I have hidden for you in every letter of every word that I have ever written on blank sheets of our past memories,
all you have to do is listen.
I heard them again last night,
did you?
Walk
He said
“Ay Yo Shay…Why you walk like that?”
and I paused…..
Back straight,
shoulders lowered and back.
I walk like…..
I walk like I can’t be broken though my cracks are clearly visible
to anyone who dares to look close enough.
Intertwining to weave my history into my skin…
Run your fingers down my forearms,
see if you can feel my sacrifices.
Linger at my wrist and you’ll find scares that resemble those of He
who was nailed and hung from parallel trees.
I’ve been crucified
multiple times,
just in different formations…
Age 18,
arms cuffed behind back.
Faced pushed against hood.
Penalized because the melanin in my skin made me fit the description of guilty.
My skin tone mimics molasses,
which must mean my fingers are sticky.
Age 15,
body pressed against his living room wall.
Right arm locked behind my back.
Left arm pinned to my side by wall,
and his body weight.
Hair gripped tight in fingers.
Head yanked back,
he said that he’d be damned if I left him…
and then he told me he loved me.
Age 8,
body sprawled on concrete.
Arms bound at wrist and held over my head.
Legs spread wide like an upside down crucifix
to unwillingly welcome snakes into my garden of Eden.
And then after he was done,
I was left behind.
Discarded as carelessly as the rag he used to wipe himself off with.
I can still picture it clearly on the floor…
tattered and bloody,
worn and covered in his viscid explosion.
The mirror reflection of my hymen.
“Ay yo Shay, why you stand like that?”
A pillar of defiance,
I stand so I can be knocked down.
Broken,
and rebuilt
so mold me.
Transform me into everything they told me I could never equal up to.
But please,
leave Me pieces of yester Self so I be reminded
that She was always beautiful.
I was worthy…
once.
Before,
I use to walk like I held God’s envy in my womb.
Before,
I use to love Me
who was in love with Self.
But Self broke Me’s heart too many times,
and I couldn’t pick up the pieces
so now I’m choking on pieces of potential self acceptance.
He asked me,
“Ay yo Shay, Why you walk like that?
Always gotta stand off to the side like that,
like you to good to look at people?”
But looking at people makes cracks visible,
and the thing about cracks is…
they have a tendency to be contagious.
So I try to keep mine to myself,
‘cause under pressure,
they stretch,
then they might reach yours,
and the pain gets transferred.
Then your cracks grow longer and branch out,
then those branches spread like trees,
and then everybody ends up broken…
like me.
Looking at people,
usually leads to eye contact,
and eyes are the windows to the soul,
and souls tend to be reflective,
and it should be clear by now…
I don’t really like looking at myself.
So I walk like my feet are tectonic plates.
Slow…but with purpose.
Feet sometimes brushing against each other,
that’s why I stand like mountains.
He kept asking,
and I finally answered.
I walk,
back straight.
Shoulders lowered,
with the bible tattooed on my spine,
and Lucifer’s sin sitting in the dip where my ass meets my back
so that with every step I take,
Hell quakes under me.
An angel walking through a fire pit with scorched wings.
I pulled my own feathers out my back burning
just so I could write the sky a lullaby in the form of lightning…
thunder mimicking my heartbeat.
I walk to set an example.
I walk,
because my grandmother
and mother had to.
I walk,
simply to remind myself…
I still know how to.
“Ay Yo Shay…Why you walk like that?”
and I paused…..
Back straight,
shoulders lowered and back.
I walk like…..
I walk like I can’t be broken though my cracks are clearly visible
to anyone who dares to look close enough.
Intertwining to weave my history into my skin…
Run your fingers down my forearms,
see if you can feel my sacrifices.
Linger at my wrist and you’ll find scares that resemble those of He
who was nailed and hung from parallel trees.
I’ve been crucified
multiple times,
just in different formations…
Age 18,
arms cuffed behind back.
Faced pushed against hood.
Penalized because the melanin in my skin made me fit the description of guilty.
My skin tone mimics molasses,
which must mean my fingers are sticky.
Age 15,
body pressed against his living room wall.
Right arm locked behind my back.
Left arm pinned to my side by wall,
and his body weight.
Hair gripped tight in fingers.
Head yanked back,
he said that he’d be damned if I left him…
and then he told me he loved me.
Age 8,
body sprawled on concrete.
Arms bound at wrist and held over my head.
Legs spread wide like an upside down crucifix
to unwillingly welcome snakes into my garden of Eden.
And then after he was done,
I was left behind.
Discarded as carelessly as the rag he used to wipe himself off with.
I can still picture it clearly on the floor…
tattered and bloody,
worn and covered in his viscid explosion.
The mirror reflection of my hymen.
“Ay yo Shay, why you stand like that?”
A pillar of defiance,
I stand so I can be knocked down.
Broken,
and rebuilt
so mold me.
Transform me into everything they told me I could never equal up to.
But please,
leave Me pieces of yester Self so I be reminded
that She was always beautiful.
I was worthy…
once.
Before,
I use to walk like I held God’s envy in my womb.
Before,
I use to love Me
who was in love with Self.
But Self broke Me’s heart too many times,
and I couldn’t pick up the pieces
so now I’m choking on pieces of potential self acceptance.
He asked me,
“Ay yo Shay, Why you walk like that?
Always gotta stand off to the side like that,
like you to good to look at people?”
But looking at people makes cracks visible,
and the thing about cracks is…
they have a tendency to be contagious.
So I try to keep mine to myself,
‘cause under pressure,
they stretch,
then they might reach yours,
and the pain gets transferred.
Then your cracks grow longer and branch out,
then those branches spread like trees,
and then everybody ends up broken…
like me.
Looking at people,
usually leads to eye contact,
and eyes are the windows to the soul,
and souls tend to be reflective,
and it should be clear by now…
I don’t really like looking at myself.
So I walk like my feet are tectonic plates.
Slow…but with purpose.
Feet sometimes brushing against each other,
that’s why I stand like mountains.
He kept asking,
and I finally answered.
I walk,
back straight.
Shoulders lowered,
with the bible tattooed on my spine,
and Lucifer’s sin sitting in the dip where my ass meets my back
so that with every step I take,
Hell quakes under me.
An angel walking through a fire pit with scorched wings.
I pulled my own feathers out my back burning
just so I could write the sky a lullaby in the form of lightning…
thunder mimicking my heartbeat.
I walk to set an example.
I walk,
because my grandmother
and mother had to.
I walk,
simply to remind myself…
I still know how to.
Mindtrip
Sitting…
Reminiscing on how good it use to feel when I would remember
how to forget.
Running fingers through my hair,
trying to retrace my roots as if I could find my ancestors ashes in my dandruff…
I never did like washing my hair.
I always thought that each strand that fell
was just another unused opportunity to find where I come from,
so I forgot my name.
Took to trying on the glass slippers of others,
but I found out all too soon that fairytales…
weren’t meant for little girls like me.
Split between 2 families,
2 wars,
and I guess 4 inch glass stilettos would make it a little hard for G.I. Joe to stand his ground in,
so I was given my father’s combat boots.
I was taught how to march in them,
but one day I couldn’t remember how to lace them up.
Barefoot and broken I ran back into who I forgot I was.
Have you ever witnessed a butterfly
fling it’s self into a bolt of lightning like a Buddhist monk self immolating?
I was always something like a pyro.
Amazed by the flame,
and obsessed with the burn.
I torched my memories and set fire to my veins.
Black is suppose to be beautiful,
but I wonder if my ancestors could see beauty in their hung loved ones with scorched skin.
swinging from the necks of trees,
old school Jesus pieces.
I wonder if they could remember the smell.
Sitting,
barricaded by broken I remembered…
went back to the day I saw life in brown skin.
The day the beat was given back to the music box hidden under my left breast
I tripped into love with ice.
Fell,
and couldn’t remember what standing felt like,
so I forgot my affair with the flame.
Damn if the cold didn’t feel good sometimes….
and sometimes,
I would stay low and pray for the rain
just so I could run against the clouds and maybe mistake my tears for raindrops…
Numb myself enough so that I could break this bloodline between us without hemorrhaging.
Till I saw the sunrise in your smile
and felt the blaze in your touch.
I.
Forgot.
My name.
My ideological foundation cracked beneath me.
I found myself free-falling through galaxies,
so I renamed myself Halley,
Comet,
‘cause just like he,
she,
it,
I challenged the Sun’s beauty.
but only in the darkness…
In the daylight,
I would lose luminosity and just blend in.
Maybe that’s why I would always cry come morning,
afraid that my son wouldn’t rise right.
So while reminiscing on how good it use to feel when I would remember how beautiful forgetting felt,
I forgot.
Got lost inside my hair
with my roots wrapped ‘round my throat
like my ancestors’ way of screaming remember me.
I choked on their ashes and I remembered the dirt and bone I came from.
Remembered the war,
the fight.
Remembered the first night I forgot.
Remembered the flame
the smell,
I finally remembered-
my name.
Reminiscing on how good it use to feel when I would remember
how to forget.
Running fingers through my hair,
trying to retrace my roots as if I could find my ancestors ashes in my dandruff…
I never did like washing my hair.
I always thought that each strand that fell
was just another unused opportunity to find where I come from,
so I forgot my name.
Took to trying on the glass slippers of others,
but I found out all too soon that fairytales…
weren’t meant for little girls like me.
Split between 2 families,
2 wars,
and I guess 4 inch glass stilettos would make it a little hard for G.I. Joe to stand his ground in,
so I was given my father’s combat boots.
I was taught how to march in them,
but one day I couldn’t remember how to lace them up.
Barefoot and broken I ran back into who I forgot I was.
Have you ever witnessed a butterfly
fling it’s self into a bolt of lightning like a Buddhist monk self immolating?
I was always something like a pyro.
Amazed by the flame,
and obsessed with the burn.
I torched my memories and set fire to my veins.
Black is suppose to be beautiful,
but I wonder if my ancestors could see beauty in their hung loved ones with scorched skin.
swinging from the necks of trees,
old school Jesus pieces.
I wonder if they could remember the smell.
Sitting,
barricaded by broken I remembered…
went back to the day I saw life in brown skin.
The day the beat was given back to the music box hidden under my left breast
I tripped into love with ice.
Fell,
and couldn’t remember what standing felt like,
so I forgot my affair with the flame.
Damn if the cold didn’t feel good sometimes….
and sometimes,
I would stay low and pray for the rain
just so I could run against the clouds and maybe mistake my tears for raindrops…
Numb myself enough so that I could break this bloodline between us without hemorrhaging.
Till I saw the sunrise in your smile
and felt the blaze in your touch.
I.
Forgot.
My name.
My ideological foundation cracked beneath me.
I found myself free-falling through galaxies,
so I renamed myself Halley,
Comet,
‘cause just like he,
she,
it,
I challenged the Sun’s beauty.
but only in the darkness…
In the daylight,
I would lose luminosity and just blend in.
Maybe that’s why I would always cry come morning,
afraid that my son wouldn’t rise right.
So while reminiscing on how good it use to feel when I would remember how beautiful forgetting felt,
I forgot.
Got lost inside my hair
with my roots wrapped ‘round my throat
like my ancestors’ way of screaming remember me.
I choked on their ashes and I remembered the dirt and bone I came from.
Remembered the war,
the fight.
Remembered the first night I forgot.
Remembered the flame
the smell,
I finally remembered-
my name.
Thy Kingdom Come
We were bred to be kings.
Murmured from lips the moment our heads are first freed from womb,
why do you think they call it crowning?
Our kingdoms are hidden in the beats that dance from Adam’s piano keys,
I am royalty…
I’ve constructed castles out of the sand I stole from Time’s hour glass
just so I would always have a safe place to keep my memories.
I’ve used the petals that fell from the rose in my chest like bricks.
Designing dynasties and hiding them sporadically in overlooked beauty.
My lost Atlantis,
They were not ready for you
so I hide you in the ocean above me,
formed the clouds to fit you.
The sky is my canvas
and I dare anyone to try and take it from me.
We are kings.
Even when our crowns are in pieces
you should still walk like royalty.
Learn how to carry broken on your shoulders,
a reminder of where you come from.
Sister,
though your crown may not be acknowledged
it doesn’t mean that it is non-existent.
Let no one tell you that you were not bred from diamonds.
You should only come second to God.
Get closer to God.
And don’t be afraid to let your rivers flow from your oasis,
cause you will never be stronger than when your weaknesses are exposed.
Listen,
because you have not been blessed with no greater gift
than the ability to hear beauty in simplicity.
See me,
I am everything lost.
Pieced together with the pieces that I have found
left from those who have come before me.
Trust,
I’ve been fucked by broken,
I know how it feels to feel hallow.
We can rebuild each other,
and re-shine crowns.
Now brother,
why do you deny your thrown.
This is where life begins
You are Adam…
you hold music in your chest that escapes from that missing piece.
You are king.
So act like one.
Even when you are not treated as such,
we are sorry.
But you built to walk up-right.
Powerful like thunder,
this storm will be over soon.
Brother,
you are beauty in it’s purest form.
Life is built on your foundations,
so lay a good one.
Don’t worry about old cracks
they make plaster for that.
If the world was not meant for you to carry alone
then that bone would’ve never been broken in the first place.
We are kings.
Even when sleeping in garbage
we are still garnished.
This world is our dying dynasty,
and too many of you have discarded your crowns
but I’m here to give them back to you.
Only if you want them,
we were bred this way so accept it.
King,
your thrown…
is waiting.
Murmured from lips the moment our heads are first freed from womb,
why do you think they call it crowning?
Our kingdoms are hidden in the beats that dance from Adam’s piano keys,
I am royalty…
I’ve constructed castles out of the sand I stole from Time’s hour glass
just so I would always have a safe place to keep my memories.
I’ve used the petals that fell from the rose in my chest like bricks.
Designing dynasties and hiding them sporadically in overlooked beauty.
My lost Atlantis,
They were not ready for you
so I hide you in the ocean above me,
formed the clouds to fit you.
The sky is my canvas
and I dare anyone to try and take it from me.
We are kings.
Even when our crowns are in pieces
you should still walk like royalty.
Learn how to carry broken on your shoulders,
a reminder of where you come from.
Sister,
though your crown may not be acknowledged
it doesn’t mean that it is non-existent.
Let no one tell you that you were not bred from diamonds.
You should only come second to God.
Get closer to God.
And don’t be afraid to let your rivers flow from your oasis,
cause you will never be stronger than when your weaknesses are exposed.
Listen,
because you have not been blessed with no greater gift
than the ability to hear beauty in simplicity.
See me,
I am everything lost.
Pieced together with the pieces that I have found
left from those who have come before me.
Trust,
I’ve been fucked by broken,
I know how it feels to feel hallow.
We can rebuild each other,
and re-shine crowns.
Now brother,
why do you deny your thrown.
This is where life begins
You are Adam…
you hold music in your chest that escapes from that missing piece.
You are king.
So act like one.
Even when you are not treated as such,
we are sorry.
But you built to walk up-right.
Powerful like thunder,
this storm will be over soon.
Brother,
you are beauty in it’s purest form.
Life is built on your foundations,
so lay a good one.
Don’t worry about old cracks
they make plaster for that.
If the world was not meant for you to carry alone
then that bone would’ve never been broken in the first place.
We are kings.
Even when sleeping in garbage
we are still garnished.
This world is our dying dynasty,
and too many of you have discarded your crowns
but I’m here to give them back to you.
Only if you want them,
we were bred this way so accept it.
King,
your thrown…
is waiting.
Eyes B
Eyes…
Big brown beautiful blessing that behold the unseen masked behind behavioral banality
‘Cause sometimes….
reality bites too hard.
So,
eyes be lying sometimes,
I mean,
I’z be lying sometimes.
In my mind it doesn’t seem so wrong ‘cause I’ve been doing it so long.
Now my eyes sing songs that lyrically manipulate mind frames
into reverentially relying on lying.
Eyes hold stories that can evolve into a series,
seriously.
I’ve gotten lost inside a pair that was homeless.
Instantly my eyes became vicarious,
and I aged with him.
then went back in times when daddy was never there,
and mommy wrote in her skin often because life was too hard for her to bear,
and one day her pages stopped singing.
I’z was there,
our eyes were there,
but didn’t leak as we picked up mommy the empty journal up off the floor.
Walked out the door of the only home that we would ever have.
We kept going back…
Back to the night we were born,
we were beautiful.
And mommy said she say potential in his eyes…
What happened?
I’z be,
Eyes be crying sometimes,
and don’t know why they leak.
Why their souls bleed.
Why they see things that they never should have in the first place
and keep replaying them over,
and keep replaying them over,
and keep replying them over
and over like a bad movie,
moving me.
I’ve witnessed tragedies.
Now it seems like each one of my heart beats is a lifetime gone to waste,
so I pace myself…
‘Cause eyes blink,
and worlds end.
Eyes sleep,
and galaxies are lost
and universes crumble.
Oh how the mighty are humbled when eyes be opened.
Eyes be widen in bewildered shock when they realize that they
have not seen everything.
And everything
is anything
anything is nothing
and nothing is always something.
And sometimes…
messages are lost in the crevices of eyes.
Then those crevices get over run,
and stories get past on,
extended,
remixed,
and flipped.
So let me flip the script.
Eyes be,
dead.
I’s be…
dead.
My eyes be….
Locked, loaded and cocked back,
ready to lash back at the last motha fucka that put these dagger wounds in my back
but then sometimes my eyes be like…….
man fuck that.
That bastard was just a right of passage,
no more significant than an act of flatulence
and I don’t need them to validate that I’m the shit,
‘cause I’m
the shit
to me.
And yeah you right…
that is slightly cocky,
but I’z be the only one who can take care of me.
My eyes be watching,
watching how eyes be ducking and dodging.
Dancing around they sockets.
Trying to keep their stories untold and their secrets unheard,
but still they eyes be singing.
Eyes be captivating.
So what are the ones next you saying?
I guarantee that if you take the time to look you’ll see that
your eyes be,
his eyes be,
my eyes..
be.
Big brown beautiful blessing that behold the unseen masked behind behavioral banality
‘Cause sometimes….
reality bites too hard.
So,
eyes be lying sometimes,
I mean,
I’z be lying sometimes.
In my mind it doesn’t seem so wrong ‘cause I’ve been doing it so long.
Now my eyes sing songs that lyrically manipulate mind frames
into reverentially relying on lying.
Eyes hold stories that can evolve into a series,
seriously.
I’ve gotten lost inside a pair that was homeless.
Instantly my eyes became vicarious,
and I aged with him.
then went back in times when daddy was never there,
and mommy wrote in her skin often because life was too hard for her to bear,
and one day her pages stopped singing.
I’z was there,
our eyes were there,
but didn’t leak as we picked up mommy the empty journal up off the floor.
Walked out the door of the only home that we would ever have.
We kept going back…
Back to the night we were born,
we were beautiful.
And mommy said she say potential in his eyes…
What happened?
I’z be,
Eyes be crying sometimes,
and don’t know why they leak.
Why their souls bleed.
Why they see things that they never should have in the first place
and keep replaying them over,
and keep replaying them over,
and keep replying them over
and over like a bad movie,
moving me.
I’ve witnessed tragedies.
Now it seems like each one of my heart beats is a lifetime gone to waste,
so I pace myself…
‘Cause eyes blink,
and worlds end.
Eyes sleep,
and galaxies are lost
and universes crumble.
Oh how the mighty are humbled when eyes be opened.
Eyes be widen in bewildered shock when they realize that they
have not seen everything.
And everything
is anything
anything is nothing
and nothing is always something.
And sometimes…
messages are lost in the crevices of eyes.
Then those crevices get over run,
and stories get past on,
extended,
remixed,
and flipped.
So let me flip the script.
Eyes be,
dead.
I’s be…
dead.
My eyes be….
Locked, loaded and cocked back,
ready to lash back at the last motha fucka that put these dagger wounds in my back
but then sometimes my eyes be like…….
man fuck that.
That bastard was just a right of passage,
no more significant than an act of flatulence
and I don’t need them to validate that I’m the shit,
‘cause I’m
the shit
to me.
And yeah you right…
that is slightly cocky,
but I’z be the only one who can take care of me.
My eyes be watching,
watching how eyes be ducking and dodging.
Dancing around they sockets.
Trying to keep their stories untold and their secrets unheard,
but still they eyes be singing.
Eyes be captivating.
So what are the ones next you saying?
I guarantee that if you take the time to look you’ll see that
your eyes be,
his eyes be,
my eyes..
be.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Mindtrip
Sitting…
Reminiscing on how good it use to feel when I would remember
how to forget.
Running fingers through my hair,
trying to retrace my roots as if I could find my ancestors ashes in my dandruff…
I never did like washing my hair.
I always thought that each strand that fell
was just another unused opportunity to find where I come from,
so I forgot my name.
Took to trying on the glass slippers of others,
but I found out all too soon that fairytales…
weren’t meant for little girls like me.
Split between 2 families,
2 wars,
and I guess 4 inch glass stilettos would make it a little hard for G.I. Joe to stand his ground in,
so I was given my father’s combat boots.
I was taught how to march in them,
but one day I couldn’t remember how to lace them up.
Barefoot and broken I ran back into who I forgot I was.
Have you ever witnessed a butterfly
fling it’s self into a bolt of lightning like a Buddhist monk self immolating?
I was always something like a pyro.
Amazed by the flame,
and obsessed with the burn.
I torched my memories and set fire to my veins.
Black is suppose to be beautiful,
but I wonder if my ancestors could see beauty in their hung loved ones with scorched skin.
swinging from the necks of trees,
old school Jesus pieces.
I wonder if they could remember the smell.
Sitting,
barricaded by broken I remembered…
went back to the day I saw life in brown skin.
The day the beat was given back to the music box hidden under my left breast
I tripped into love with ice.
Fell,
and couldn’t remember what standing felt like,
so I forgot my affair with the flame.
Damn if the cold didn’t feel good sometimes….
and sometimes,
I would stay low and pray for the rain
just so I could run against the clouds and maybe mistake my tears for raindrops…
Numb myself enough so that I could break this bloodline between us without hemorrhaging.
Till I saw the sunrise in your smile
and felt the blaze in your touch.
I.
Forgot.
My name.
My ideological foundation cracked beneath me.
I found myself free-falling through galaxies,
so I renamed myself Halley,
Comet,
‘cause just like he,
she,
it,
I challenged the Sun’s beauty.
but only in the darkness…
In the daylight,
I would lose luminosity and just blend in.
Maybe that’s why I would always cry come morning,
afraid that my son wouldn’t rise right.
So while reminiscing on how good it use to feel when I would remember how beautiful forgetting felt,
I forgot.
Got lost inside my hair
with my roots wrapped ‘round my throat
like my ancestors’ way of screaming remember me.
I choked on their ashes and I remembered the dirt and bone I came from.
Remembered the war,
the fight.
Remembered the first night I forgot.
Remembered the flame
the smell,
I finally remembered-
my name.
Reminiscing on how good it use to feel when I would remember
how to forget.
Running fingers through my hair,
trying to retrace my roots as if I could find my ancestors ashes in my dandruff…
I never did like washing my hair.
I always thought that each strand that fell
was just another unused opportunity to find where I come from,
so I forgot my name.
Took to trying on the glass slippers of others,
but I found out all too soon that fairytales…
weren’t meant for little girls like me.
Split between 2 families,
2 wars,
and I guess 4 inch glass stilettos would make it a little hard for G.I. Joe to stand his ground in,
so I was given my father’s combat boots.
I was taught how to march in them,
but one day I couldn’t remember how to lace them up.
Barefoot and broken I ran back into who I forgot I was.
Have you ever witnessed a butterfly
fling it’s self into a bolt of lightning like a Buddhist monk self immolating?
I was always something like a pyro.
Amazed by the flame,
and obsessed with the burn.
I torched my memories and set fire to my veins.
Black is suppose to be beautiful,
but I wonder if my ancestors could see beauty in their hung loved ones with scorched skin.
swinging from the necks of trees,
old school Jesus pieces.
I wonder if they could remember the smell.
Sitting,
barricaded by broken I remembered…
went back to the day I saw life in brown skin.
The day the beat was given back to the music box hidden under my left breast
I tripped into love with ice.
Fell,
and couldn’t remember what standing felt like,
so I forgot my affair with the flame.
Damn if the cold didn’t feel good sometimes….
and sometimes,
I would stay low and pray for the rain
just so I could run against the clouds and maybe mistake my tears for raindrops…
Numb myself enough so that I could break this bloodline between us without hemorrhaging.
Till I saw the sunrise in your smile
and felt the blaze in your touch.
I.
Forgot.
My name.
My ideological foundation cracked beneath me.
I found myself free-falling through galaxies,
so I renamed myself Halley,
Comet,
‘cause just like he,
she,
it,
I challenged the Sun’s beauty.
but only in the darkness…
In the daylight,
I would lose luminosity and just blend in.
Maybe that’s why I would always cry come morning,
afraid that my son wouldn’t rise right.
So while reminiscing on how good it use to feel when I would remember how beautiful forgetting felt,
I forgot.
Got lost inside my hair
with my roots wrapped ‘round my throat
like my ancestors’ way of screaming remember me.
I choked on their ashes and I remembered the dirt and bone I came from.
Remembered the war,
the fight.
Remembered the first night I forgot.
Remembered the flame
the smell,
I finally remembered-
my name.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Royalty
We were bred to be kings.
Murmured from lips the moment our heads are first freed from womb,
why do you think they call it crowning?
Our kingdoms are hidden in the beats that dance from Adam’s piano keys,
I am royalty…
I’ve constructed castles out of the sand I stole from Time’s hour glass
just so I would always have a safe place to keep my memories.
I’ve used the petals that fell from the rose in my chest like bricks.
Designing dynasties and hiding them sporadically in overlooked beauty.
My lost Atlantis,
They were not ready for you
so I hide you in the ocean above me,
formed the clouds to fit you.
The sky is my canvas
and I dare anyone to try and take it from me.
We are kings.
Even when our crowns are in pieces
you should still walk like royalty.
Learn how to carry broken on your shoulders,
a reminder of where you come from.
Sister,
though your crown may not be acknowledged
it doesn’t mean that it is non-existent.
Let no one tell you that you were not bred from diamonds.
You should only come second to God.
Get closer to God.
And don’t be afraid to let your rivers flow from your oasis,
cause you will never be stronger than when your weaknesses are exposed.
Listen,
because you have not been blessed with no greater gift
than the ability to hear beauty in simplicity.
See me,
I am everything lost.
Pieced together with the pieces that I have found
left from those who have come before me.
Trust,
I’ve been fucked by broken,
I know how it feels to feel hallow.
We can rebuild each other,
and re-shine these crowns.
Now brother,
why do you deny your thrown.
For this is where life begins.
You are Adam…
you hold music in your chest that escapes from that missing piece.
You are king.
So act like one.
Even when you are not treated as such,
we are sorry.
But you were built to walk up-right.
Powerful like thunder,
this storm will be over soon.
Brother,
you are beauty in it’s purest form.
Life is built on your foundations,
so lay a good one.
Don’t worry about old cracks
they make plaster for that.
If the world was not meant for you to carry alone
then that bone would’ve never been broken in the first place.
We are kings.
Even when sleeping in garbage
we are still garnished.
This world is our dying dynasty,
and too many of you have discarded your crowns
but I’m here to give them back to you.
Only if you want them,
we were bred this way so accept it.
King,
your thrown…
is waiting.
Murmured from lips the moment our heads are first freed from womb,
why do you think they call it crowning?
Our kingdoms are hidden in the beats that dance from Adam’s piano keys,
I am royalty…
I’ve constructed castles out of the sand I stole from Time’s hour glass
just so I would always have a safe place to keep my memories.
I’ve used the petals that fell from the rose in my chest like bricks.
Designing dynasties and hiding them sporadically in overlooked beauty.
My lost Atlantis,
They were not ready for you
so I hide you in the ocean above me,
formed the clouds to fit you.
The sky is my canvas
and I dare anyone to try and take it from me.
We are kings.
Even when our crowns are in pieces
you should still walk like royalty.
Learn how to carry broken on your shoulders,
a reminder of where you come from.
Sister,
though your crown may not be acknowledged
it doesn’t mean that it is non-existent.
Let no one tell you that you were not bred from diamonds.
You should only come second to God.
Get closer to God.
And don’t be afraid to let your rivers flow from your oasis,
cause you will never be stronger than when your weaknesses are exposed.
Listen,
because you have not been blessed with no greater gift
than the ability to hear beauty in simplicity.
See me,
I am everything lost.
Pieced together with the pieces that I have found
left from those who have come before me.
Trust,
I’ve been fucked by broken,
I know how it feels to feel hallow.
We can rebuild each other,
and re-shine these crowns.
Now brother,
why do you deny your thrown.
For this is where life begins.
You are Adam…
you hold music in your chest that escapes from that missing piece.
You are king.
So act like one.
Even when you are not treated as such,
we are sorry.
But you were built to walk up-right.
Powerful like thunder,
this storm will be over soon.
Brother,
you are beauty in it’s purest form.
Life is built on your foundations,
so lay a good one.
Don’t worry about old cracks
they make plaster for that.
If the world was not meant for you to carry alone
then that bone would’ve never been broken in the first place.
We are kings.
Even when sleeping in garbage
we are still garnished.
This world is our dying dynasty,
and too many of you have discarded your crowns
but I’m here to give them back to you.
Only if you want them,
we were bred this way so accept it.
King,
your thrown…
is waiting.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Walk
He said
“Ay Yo Shay…Why you walk like that?”
and I paused…..
Back straight,
shoulders lowered and back.
I walk like…..
I walk like I can’t be broken though my cracks are clearly visible
to anyone who dares to look close enough.
Intertwining to weave my history into my skin…
Run your fingers down my forearms,
see if you can feel my sacrifices.
Linger at my wrist and you’ll find scares that resemble those of He
who was nailed and hung from parallel trees.
I’ve been crucified
multiple times,
just in different formations…
Age 18,
arms cuffed behind back.
Faced pushed against hood.
Penalized because the melanin in my skin made me fit the description of guilty.
My skin tone mimics molasses,
which must mean my fingers are sticky.
Age 15,
body pressed against his living room wall.
Right arm locked behind my back.
Left arm pinned to my side by wall,
and his body weight.
Hair gripped tight in fingers.
Head yanked back,
he said that he’d be damned if I left him…
and then he told me he loved me.
Age 8,
body sprawled on concrete.
Arms bound at wrist and held over my head.
Legs spread wide like an upside down crucifix
to unwillingly welcome snakes into my garden of Eden.
And then after he was done,
I was left behind.
Discarded as carelessly as the rag he used to wipe himself off with.
I can still picture it clearly on the floor…
tattered and bloody,
worn and covered in his viscid explosion.
The mirror reflection of my hymen.
“Ay yo Shay, why you stand like that?”
A pillar of defiance,
I stand so I can be knocked down.
Broken,
and rebuilt
so mold me.
Transform me into everything they told me I could never equal up to.
But please,
leave Me pieces of yester Self so I be reminded
that She was always beautiful.
I was worthy…
once.
Before,
I use to walk like I held God’s envy in my womb.
Before,
I use to love Me
who was in love with Self.
But Self broke Me’s heart too many times,
and I couldn’t pick up the pieces
so now I’m choking on pieces of potential self acceptance.
He asked me,
“Ay yo Shay, Why you walk like that?
Always gotta stand off to the side like that,
like you to good to look at people?”
But looking at people makes cracks visible,
and the thing about cracks is…
they have a tendency to be contagious.
So I try to keep mine to myself,
‘cause under pressure,
they stretch,
then they might reach yours,
and the pain gets transferred.
Then your cracks grow longer and branch out,
then those branches spread like trees,
and then everybody ends up broken…
like me.
Looking at people,
usually leads to eye contact,
and eyes are the windows to the soul,
and souls tend to be reflective,
and it should be clear by now…
I don’t really like looking at myself.
So I walk like my feet are tectonic plates.
Slow…but with purpose.
Feet sometimes brushing against each other,
that’s why I stand like mountains.
He kept asking,
and I finally answered.
I walk,
back straight.
Shoulders lowered,
with the bible tattooed on my spine,
and Lucifer’s sin sitting in the dip where my ass meets my back
so that with every step I take,
Hell quakes under me.
An angel walking through a fire pit with scorched wings.
I pulled my own feathers out my back burning
just so I could write the sky a lullaby in the form of lightning…
thunder mimicking my heartbeat.
I walk to set an example.
I walk,
because my grandmother
and mother had to.
I walk,
simply to remind myself…
I still know how to.
“Ay Yo Shay…Why you walk like that?”
and I paused…..
Back straight,
shoulders lowered and back.
I walk like…..
I walk like I can’t be broken though my cracks are clearly visible
to anyone who dares to look close enough.
Intertwining to weave my history into my skin…
Run your fingers down my forearms,
see if you can feel my sacrifices.
Linger at my wrist and you’ll find scares that resemble those of He
who was nailed and hung from parallel trees.
I’ve been crucified
multiple times,
just in different formations…
Age 18,
arms cuffed behind back.
Faced pushed against hood.
Penalized because the melanin in my skin made me fit the description of guilty.
My skin tone mimics molasses,
which must mean my fingers are sticky.
Age 15,
body pressed against his living room wall.
Right arm locked behind my back.
Left arm pinned to my side by wall,
and his body weight.
Hair gripped tight in fingers.
Head yanked back,
he said that he’d be damned if I left him…
and then he told me he loved me.
Age 8,
body sprawled on concrete.
Arms bound at wrist and held over my head.
Legs spread wide like an upside down crucifix
to unwillingly welcome snakes into my garden of Eden.
And then after he was done,
I was left behind.
Discarded as carelessly as the rag he used to wipe himself off with.
I can still picture it clearly on the floor…
tattered and bloody,
worn and covered in his viscid explosion.
The mirror reflection of my hymen.
“Ay yo Shay, why you stand like that?”
A pillar of defiance,
I stand so I can be knocked down.
Broken,
and rebuilt
so mold me.
Transform me into everything they told me I could never equal up to.
But please,
leave Me pieces of yester Self so I be reminded
that She was always beautiful.
I was worthy…
once.
Before,
I use to walk like I held God’s envy in my womb.
Before,
I use to love Me
who was in love with Self.
But Self broke Me’s heart too many times,
and I couldn’t pick up the pieces
so now I’m choking on pieces of potential self acceptance.
He asked me,
“Ay yo Shay, Why you walk like that?
Always gotta stand off to the side like that,
like you to good to look at people?”
But looking at people makes cracks visible,
and the thing about cracks is…
they have a tendency to be contagious.
So I try to keep mine to myself,
‘cause under pressure,
they stretch,
then they might reach yours,
and the pain gets transferred.
Then your cracks grow longer and branch out,
then those branches spread like trees,
and then everybody ends up broken…
like me.
Looking at people,
usually leads to eye contact,
and eyes are the windows to the soul,
and souls tend to be reflective,
and it should be clear by now…
I don’t really like looking at myself.
So I walk like my feet are tectonic plates.
Slow…but with purpose.
Feet sometimes brushing against each other,
that’s why I stand like mountains.
He kept asking,
and I finally answered.
I walk,
back straight.
Shoulders lowered,
with the bible tattooed on my spine,
and Lucifer’s sin sitting in the dip where my ass meets my back
so that with every step I take,
Hell quakes under me.
An angel walking through a fire pit with scorched wings.
I pulled my own feathers out my back burning
just so I could write the sky a lullaby in the form of lightning…
thunder mimicking my heartbeat.
I walk to set an example.
I walk,
because my grandmother
and mother had to.
I walk,
simply to remind myself…
I still know how to.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Answers
I saw God on a northbound 300 going back to Heaven
He sat,
three seats over to my left
hunched over
skin looked just like rain
he smelled like forgiveness
like a thousand halos and angel wing kisses
he held the blueprints to the civilizations in his fingerprints
and the secrets of the world were tucked in the crevices of his wrinkles
his hair matted and kinked,
twisted beautifully
and if you looked closely you could almost feel were his roots started.
Mother nature was sitting behind him
corn-rowing his mane into life lines
that reaches as far back as
when D.C snipers shot bullets into the ignorance of African American’s who thought our people could never do this
When burning crosses on the front lawns of niggas was considered a community service
when raping 3 year old virgins was considered the cure for AIDS
as far back as
when I wouldn’t even be considered 3/5 human beings
when children picked up their own pieces
in the hopes of being pieced back together to continue the search for blood diamonds
when slaves sung songs strung together wish secret messages
when Jesus first utter the word mommy
when Adam first laid eyes on Eve and thought he was not worthy
He sat,
and I watched him
anger boiling beneath the surface of this thick skin I was given
And I wanted to ask him
how could you lay dormant as these things weaved into our history?
You created stars and galaxies
but sit idly by as the light in innocent eyes die
I stood,
with the intent of crossing this purgatory
hell bent on getting my point across.
He turned to me,
and as he read these thoughts that lingered on my face
he placed a single finger on my lips and asked me
“Who do you think you are?
Where were you when I had to take the lost spirits of abandoned children,
dead orphans,
miscarried babies
and aborted dreams and give them homes in the light of stars?
Where were you when I had to eclipse my fallen angel morning star
and leave him to burn in a pit of his own hatred instead of standing by my side?
Tell me where you were when I had to watch my son suffer,
carry the world’s sin on his back and welcome the cold kiss of death,
arms spread open like the wings of the sparrow my eyes be on?
Then separate my spirit in two,
create a paradise suitable enough for sinners
birthed from the loins of my soul,
my breathing labored after I created the safe haven
for those who repented for the rules they had broken
even after I had already put them in action.
Where were you when I realized man was not strong enough to handle creating on his own.
When I broke Adam’s rib and created a creature able to birth miracles.
A creature whose strength that even I as God am envious of.
Took feathers from my army and laced it in their skin.
Where were you?”
And I looked into his eyes,
saw were the billions of selfish prayers were hidden in the folds of his crow’s feet,
saw were his father Time had taught him lessons a mere mortal could never understand.
heard his heart beat whisper every wish ever made.
and the word sorry danced on the tip of my tongue,
teasing my taste buds.
“Do not apologize.
The answers to your questions are hidden in the eyes of war vets,
blinded because they were not ready to witness martyr’s souls being freed by exploding rainbows.
So now they see through my eyes.
They exist in the touch of the ones who can’t remember their own name because they have been blessed,
their mind is over loaded.
Battling butchered thoughts encased in loveless memories produced from hearing to many angels cry,
and seeing too many halos broken.
So now their mind flows as freely as my mine.
These answers linger in the aurora of those who walk as crooked as the lightning cutting across the Heavens due to the damage done to their exterior from the hell they call a life makes them walk like God, like I.
Do you understand?
I don’t punish my creation,
I just painted you in the image of me
so now I’m finishing my master pieces.
So know that for every tear that you shed,
one of your feathers is stitched back into your wings.
And one day they will be reattached to your back.
Do understand now?
You are all…
just homebound.”
He sat,
three seats over to my left
hunched over
skin looked just like rain
he smelled like forgiveness
like a thousand halos and angel wing kisses
he held the blueprints to the civilizations in his fingerprints
and the secrets of the world were tucked in the crevices of his wrinkles
his hair matted and kinked,
twisted beautifully
and if you looked closely you could almost feel were his roots started.
Mother nature was sitting behind him
corn-rowing his mane into life lines
that reaches as far back as
when D.C snipers shot bullets into the ignorance of African American’s who thought our people could never do this
When burning crosses on the front lawns of niggas was considered a community service
when raping 3 year old virgins was considered the cure for AIDS
as far back as
when I wouldn’t even be considered 3/5 human beings
when children picked up their own pieces
in the hopes of being pieced back together to continue the search for blood diamonds
when slaves sung songs strung together wish secret messages
when Jesus first utter the word mommy
when Adam first laid eyes on Eve and thought he was not worthy
He sat,
and I watched him
anger boiling beneath the surface of this thick skin I was given
And I wanted to ask him
how could you lay dormant as these things weaved into our history?
You created stars and galaxies
but sit idly by as the light in innocent eyes die
I stood,
with the intent of crossing this purgatory
hell bent on getting my point across.
He turned to me,
and as he read these thoughts that lingered on my face
he placed a single finger on my lips and asked me
“Who do you think you are?
Where were you when I had to take the lost spirits of abandoned children,
dead orphans,
miscarried babies
and aborted dreams and give them homes in the light of stars?
Where were you when I had to eclipse my fallen angel morning star
and leave him to burn in a pit of his own hatred instead of standing by my side?
Tell me where you were when I had to watch my son suffer,
carry the world’s sin on his back and welcome the cold kiss of death,
arms spread open like the wings of the sparrow my eyes be on?
Then separate my spirit in two,
create a paradise suitable enough for sinners
birthed from the loins of my soul,
my breathing labored after I created the safe haven
for those who repented for the rules they had broken
even after I had already put them in action.
Where were you when I realized man was not strong enough to handle creating on his own.
When I broke Adam’s rib and created a creature able to birth miracles.
A creature whose strength that even I as God am envious of.
Took feathers from my army and laced it in their skin.
Where were you?”
And I looked into his eyes,
saw were the billions of selfish prayers were hidden in the folds of his crow’s feet,
saw were his father Time had taught him lessons a mere mortal could never understand.
heard his heart beat whisper every wish ever made.
and the word sorry danced on the tip of my tongue,
teasing my taste buds.
“Do not apologize.
The answers to your questions are hidden in the eyes of war vets,
blinded because they were not ready to witness martyr’s souls being freed by exploding rainbows.
So now they see through my eyes.
They exist in the touch of the ones who can’t remember their own name because they have been blessed,
their mind is over loaded.
Battling butchered thoughts encased in loveless memories produced from hearing to many angels cry,
and seeing too many halos broken.
So now their mind flows as freely as my mine.
These answers linger in the aurora of those who walk as crooked as the lightning cutting across the Heavens due to the damage done to their exterior from the hell they call a life makes them walk like God, like I.
Do you understand?
I don’t punish my creation,
I just painted you in the image of me
so now I’m finishing my master pieces.
So know that for every tear that you shed,
one of your feathers is stitched back into your wings.
And one day they will be reattached to your back.
Do understand now?
You are all…
just homebound.”
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Father, I....
Father, I…
cry sometimes as you speak.
Cry sometimes in my sleep
as I question the many insecurities that you have gave me.
Am I pretty?
Did you want me?
Are you proud of me?
Do you even love me?
It’s funny how you can father strangers,
isn’t it?
Wasn’t it you who laid this seed?
So why take it out on me,
I didn’t asked to be in this world,
and can’t even remember how many times
I’ve thought of making my exit.
But it’s not like you’d notice,
just like you didn’t notice how my favorite color changed to green
or notice how my walked changed after I lost my virginity
to somebody who told me the words you never could…
I love you.
Shit, do you?
I wouldn’t know,
because it’s not like you act like it.
And yeah you provide for me,
but what I need can’t come out of your pocket.
I don’t want you fucking money…
I just need you to start acting like daddy.
And it’s sad that when somebody motioned the word father
the first five people that pop into my head aren’t you.
sad that sometimes I wish my father,
wasn’t you.
And the person that I would call daddy,
is maybe a foot or so shorter than you,
a little bit thicker than you
lighter than you.
My dad…
is a poet.
And it’s sad that I admire him more than you
and he doesn’t know it.
Sad that I seek his approval as a substitution
for the absence of yours.
I’ve closed doors,
and thrown away the keys to locks,
so now the old me
is so far behind behind me
that I no longer know her.
And you always told me I shouldn’t speak to strangers.
But she’s there every morning,
in my mirror,
waiting for me,
and this little girl looks so lonely,
I wanna help her
but she’s helpless…
locked everyone out,
she refuses to get up
cause she doubts herself
she’s stuck holding her knees to her chest.
Hugging herself
‘because you never did.
Never did man up to the result of you getting your man up,
Never took the time to understand the product of your semen,
Father, I…
never really knew how to start this conversation.
You are about to lose me,
I’m drifting….
Doing things that I never thought that I would be.
Talking to you has now become a burden
instead of being the treasure that I once thought of it as.
This resentment that I feel has grown,
so now it has consumed me,
and is slowly turning into something stronger.
This wildfire is to damn big,
ranged to damn far,
spread my tolerance to damn thin…
and now my weight has decided to mimic my patience.
I guess what I’m trying to say is…
father, I…
hate this.
So now I’m gone,
and my only regret is
that I lacked the alphabetical structure to make me the little boy that you always wanted.
And once it was told to me that your mother didn’t believed that I was yours
and now I think that somewhere in the back of your mind you don’t believe either,
that would explain your actions.
Explain why you treat me more like a chore,
instead of a blessing.
But I’m not sorry,
it’s you that should be…
you’re missing out on my life,
you’re blind
and this will be the last time I make any attempt to give you your sight back.
Again here I stand saying to you
“daddy, daddy
you bastard…
I’m through.”
cry sometimes as you speak.
Cry sometimes in my sleep
as I question the many insecurities that you have gave me.
Am I pretty?
Did you want me?
Are you proud of me?
Do you even love me?
It’s funny how you can father strangers,
isn’t it?
Wasn’t it you who laid this seed?
So why take it out on me,
I didn’t asked to be in this world,
and can’t even remember how many times
I’ve thought of making my exit.
But it’s not like you’d notice,
just like you didn’t notice how my favorite color changed to green
or notice how my walked changed after I lost my virginity
to somebody who told me the words you never could…
I love you.
Shit, do you?
I wouldn’t know,
because it’s not like you act like it.
And yeah you provide for me,
but what I need can’t come out of your pocket.
I don’t want you fucking money…
I just need you to start acting like daddy.
And it’s sad that when somebody motioned the word father
the first five people that pop into my head aren’t you.
sad that sometimes I wish my father,
wasn’t you.
And the person that I would call daddy,
is maybe a foot or so shorter than you,
a little bit thicker than you
lighter than you.
My dad…
is a poet.
And it’s sad that I admire him more than you
and he doesn’t know it.
Sad that I seek his approval as a substitution
for the absence of yours.
I’ve closed doors,
and thrown away the keys to locks,
so now the old me
is so far behind behind me
that I no longer know her.
And you always told me I shouldn’t speak to strangers.
But she’s there every morning,
in my mirror,
waiting for me,
and this little girl looks so lonely,
I wanna help her
but she’s helpless…
locked everyone out,
she refuses to get up
cause she doubts herself
she’s stuck holding her knees to her chest.
Hugging herself
‘because you never did.
Never did man up to the result of you getting your man up,
Never took the time to understand the product of your semen,
Father, I…
never really knew how to start this conversation.
You are about to lose me,
I’m drifting….
Doing things that I never thought that I would be.
Talking to you has now become a burden
instead of being the treasure that I once thought of it as.
This resentment that I feel has grown,
so now it has consumed me,
and is slowly turning into something stronger.
This wildfire is to damn big,
ranged to damn far,
spread my tolerance to damn thin…
and now my weight has decided to mimic my patience.
I guess what I’m trying to say is…
father, I…
hate this.
So now I’m gone,
and my only regret is
that I lacked the alphabetical structure to make me the little boy that you always wanted.
And once it was told to me that your mother didn’t believed that I was yours
and now I think that somewhere in the back of your mind you don’t believe either,
that would explain your actions.
Explain why you treat me more like a chore,
instead of a blessing.
But I’m not sorry,
it’s you that should be…
you’re missing out on my life,
you’re blind
and this will be the last time I make any attempt to give you your sight back.
Again here I stand saying to you
“daddy, daddy
you bastard…
I’m through.”
Monday, March 23, 2009
Suicide Note
I was asked what the bravest thing that I’ve ever did was,
and my answer was….
“Not making my wrists smile hard enough”
Then I asked myself,
Is this enough?
Is this ink I shed on this paper enough for you?
Or would you prefer me to give you the real stuff?
Would you rather me cut open my wrist for you?
I’ve done it twice before,
and I can do it again it need be.
It comes so naturally to me.
Last night,
I laid in my bed and almost embraced death…
See sometimes I swear I can see God
and he’s telling me to come home.
Sometime I swear He’s pissed
I haven’t listen to the signs He gave me,
the knives He gave me,
why the fuck hasn’t anybody tried to save me?
Am I really that crazy?
Lately I swear shit been talking to me like…
sheets and ropes be telling me we should go for a swing.
Pills be like the can heal all of my pain,
if I take enough of them they can fix everything.
Pools, rivers, and bathtubs tell me that they can hold me under their waters
and protect me from that evil thing called life.
Now knives,
they just wanna hold my wrists.
And guns,
they just wanna kiss my temple
and soothe me into an eternal peace.
They all seem like they wanna help me,
care for me more than you motha fuckas ever did.
So what’s stopping me……
these knives,
are thirsty.
Waiting to get drunk of this wine that flows through me.
1991 was a good year…
Too bad I was born and fucked it all up.
What’s wrong with me?
I can’t stop crying…
My soul is drowning,
and it doesn’t feel like fighting back anymore.
Sometimes I lay down,
and I don’t feel like getting back up.
Sometimes I put this pen down,
and i don’t feel like picking it back up.
What’s the point of writing this?
Don’t nobody care…
Don’t nobody give a fuck what happens to Shay.
They say they do,
but they don’t…
not as much as they care for others.
I’m at the bottom of everybody’s priority list,
so please tell me who the fuck would miss me?
Nobody.
Sometimes i wonder why i really carry pocketknives…
is it really for my own protection?
Or is it just for the satisfaction of knowing I always have an exit?
Maybe it’s to protect me,
from me.
I’m tired of carrying the world on my shoulders.
Tired of trying to help.
Tired of bending over backwards,
being everybody’s stepladder,
helping them get where they need to be,
when they just turn around and shit on me.
My heart is bleeding,
and it’s on it’s last everything.
I feel like I’m screaming silence,
like my tongue has been snatched from me,
like my miscarried baby.
I should have fought harder for the sanctity of my womb,
and now it’s just a wasteland,
uninhabitable,
because it’s been polluted,
cleaned up,
and polluted again.
This is my fault…
I should have fought back.
I’m drained…
These 18 years
have felt more like 18 lifetimes gone to waste,
amounted to nothing.
So useless.
I hate this,
but everybody seem to get a kick out of watching my pain,
so I hope this is a good enough show for you.
Sorry if it comes to an abrupt halt,
and you collide with my misery,
and I’ll tell you,
in it just float…
and consider this,
my suicide note…
and my answer was….
“Not making my wrists smile hard enough”
Then I asked myself,
Is this enough?
Is this ink I shed on this paper enough for you?
Or would you prefer me to give you the real stuff?
Would you rather me cut open my wrist for you?
I’ve done it twice before,
and I can do it again it need be.
It comes so naturally to me.
Last night,
I laid in my bed and almost embraced death…
See sometimes I swear I can see God
and he’s telling me to come home.
Sometime I swear He’s pissed
I haven’t listen to the signs He gave me,
the knives He gave me,
why the fuck hasn’t anybody tried to save me?
Am I really that crazy?
Lately I swear shit been talking to me like…
sheets and ropes be telling me we should go for a swing.
Pills be like the can heal all of my pain,
if I take enough of them they can fix everything.
Pools, rivers, and bathtubs tell me that they can hold me under their waters
and protect me from that evil thing called life.
Now knives,
they just wanna hold my wrists.
And guns,
they just wanna kiss my temple
and soothe me into an eternal peace.
They all seem like they wanna help me,
care for me more than you motha fuckas ever did.
So what’s stopping me……
these knives,
are thirsty.
Waiting to get drunk of this wine that flows through me.
1991 was a good year…
Too bad I was born and fucked it all up.
What’s wrong with me?
I can’t stop crying…
My soul is drowning,
and it doesn’t feel like fighting back anymore.
Sometimes I lay down,
and I don’t feel like getting back up.
Sometimes I put this pen down,
and i don’t feel like picking it back up.
What’s the point of writing this?
Don’t nobody care…
Don’t nobody give a fuck what happens to Shay.
They say they do,
but they don’t…
not as much as they care for others.
I’m at the bottom of everybody’s priority list,
so please tell me who the fuck would miss me?
Nobody.
Sometimes i wonder why i really carry pocketknives…
is it really for my own protection?
Or is it just for the satisfaction of knowing I always have an exit?
Maybe it’s to protect me,
from me.
I’m tired of carrying the world on my shoulders.
Tired of trying to help.
Tired of bending over backwards,
being everybody’s stepladder,
helping them get where they need to be,
when they just turn around and shit on me.
My heart is bleeding,
and it’s on it’s last everything.
I feel like I’m screaming silence,
like my tongue has been snatched from me,
like my miscarried baby.
I should have fought harder for the sanctity of my womb,
and now it’s just a wasteland,
uninhabitable,
because it’s been polluted,
cleaned up,
and polluted again.
This is my fault…
I should have fought back.
I’m drained…
These 18 years
have felt more like 18 lifetimes gone to waste,
amounted to nothing.
So useless.
I hate this,
but everybody seem to get a kick out of watching my pain,
so I hope this is a good enough show for you.
Sorry if it comes to an abrupt halt,
and you collide with my misery,
and I’ll tell you,
in it just float…
and consider this,
my suicide note…
Monday, March 9, 2009
Dreams
I needed you last night.
So bad that my mind started playing tricks,
cause I swear I saw your face reflected in the moonlight.
This was nothing sexual,
it was purely spiritual.
I was feigning for your soul.,
though we just got off the phone
not even half an hour ago.
You still got my heart beating fast…
and for the past couple of weeks
you where all I could think about.
So I feel asleep at 3
listening to old school R&B
and writing this to you.
Trying to make sense of how you got me feeling.
You got me daydreaming about your eyes…
swimming through your irises.
I had to remind myself to breathe
when I imagined you kissing me.
You made me forget
that I forgot.
how to forget about my past…
made me open up to you.
I dreamed about listening to your heartbeat
tell me the stories of your history.
I see your scares as nothing more
than mere beauty marks that accent you perfectly.
You are beautiful to me.
You had me smiling all day
as I replayed our conversation over in my head.
Losing myself inside everything that you said to me.
You got me hooked like…
your fingertips were laced in nicotine,
and it’s been too long since I had a drag.
Now I’m fighting the urge to call you.
My phone is betraying me,
it keeps playing with me.
Why hasn’t it rung yet?
I’m waiting to hear your voice on the other end of my phone line,
waiting for your tone to send these shivers down my spine.
I’m waiting…
just…
waiting.
Watching time go by slowly.
I have dreams of you holding me,
treating me the way I need to be.
I’m dying to be your Queen,
dying for you to make me acknowledge my beauty.
Come save me…
for me.
This throne is empty,
come take your place.
Let me crown you.
Show you that my hands were made
the perfect tools for loving you.
Smile life into my soul.
Baby,
I didn’t just want you…
I needed you last night.
Without you I didn’t know what to do,
so please…
come make my dreams come true.
So bad that my mind started playing tricks,
cause I swear I saw your face reflected in the moonlight.
This was nothing sexual,
it was purely spiritual.
I was feigning for your soul.,
though we just got off the phone
not even half an hour ago.
You still got my heart beating fast…
and for the past couple of weeks
you where all I could think about.
So I feel asleep at 3
listening to old school R&B
and writing this to you.
Trying to make sense of how you got me feeling.
You got me daydreaming about your eyes…
swimming through your irises.
I had to remind myself to breathe
when I imagined you kissing me.
You made me forget
that I forgot.
how to forget about my past…
made me open up to you.
I dreamed about listening to your heartbeat
tell me the stories of your history.
I see your scares as nothing more
than mere beauty marks that accent you perfectly.
You are beautiful to me.
You had me smiling all day
as I replayed our conversation over in my head.
Losing myself inside everything that you said to me.
You got me hooked like…
your fingertips were laced in nicotine,
and it’s been too long since I had a drag.
Now I’m fighting the urge to call you.
My phone is betraying me,
it keeps playing with me.
Why hasn’t it rung yet?
I’m waiting to hear your voice on the other end of my phone line,
waiting for your tone to send these shivers down my spine.
I’m waiting…
just…
waiting.
Watching time go by slowly.
I have dreams of you holding me,
treating me the way I need to be.
I’m dying to be your Queen,
dying for you to make me acknowledge my beauty.
Come save me…
for me.
This throne is empty,
come take your place.
Let me crown you.
Show you that my hands were made
the perfect tools for loving you.
Smile life into my soul.
Baby,
I didn’t just want you…
I needed you last night.
Without you I didn’t know what to do,
so please…
come make my dreams come true.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
She Does
Baby, I’m sorry…
but I thought it was about time I told you…
the truth.
I’ve been cheating on.
Please don’t take it personal,
it’s just you couldn’t please me…
the way She does.
can’t reach the spots that
She does it so much better than you… ever could.
You can’t touch me the way She does,
She reaches through me.
Caress my spirit,
and makes love to my mental,
and when we do get physical…
we birth masterpieces.
She comes so easily to me,
She feels right…
and I can’t tell you how many nights we’ve spent together
making me so tired that I would fall asleep on her
knowing that I would wake up the next morning still tasting her.
She taste so good rolling off my tongue.
It’s like…
she was created to be my one,
even if I’m not hers.
It’s ok…
I don’t mind sharing,
cause I know that She will always have time for me.
She will always come to me if I need her
wrap herself around me and hold me together.
She never ignores me.
She knows exactly when something is wrong
that’s why I’m in love with her.
I’ll do anything for her,
kill to reach her,
and dismantle anyone of her lovers that are not worthy…
My parents don’t want me to be with her,
they don’t understand our connection.
Don’t understand why I’m willing to lie to them
just to get a chance to be with her.
Sometimes even just to watch.
Don’t like when we display our affections publicly,
but my baby…
loves attention.
Loves when people watch us,
loves when I watch her with others…
She’s kinda a freak like that.
She’ll allow just about anybody to take her.
Loves when you do it in public places,
the more people,
the better.
She’s a temptress.
Always seducing the young,
I mean she got me when I was just 15.
Showed me things that I had never seen before.
Introduced me to 3-somes
and the exhilaration of 4.
She stood right by my side when the judgmental
made me not want to be with her anymore.
She was there through my break-ups,
and even joined in on some of my relationships.
Helped me with my family issues,
every time I cried she was right by my side.
She was always there…
See baby,
I thought it was about time that I told you
about my love affair…
with poetry.
She means everything to me,
and again I say please don’t take this personally.
I’m sorry,
it’s just you couldn’t please me…
like poetry.
She does it so much better than you…
ever could.
but I thought it was about time I told you…
the truth.
I’ve been cheating on.
Please don’t take it personal,
it’s just you couldn’t please me…
the way She does.
can’t reach the spots that
She does it so much better than you… ever could.
You can’t touch me the way She does,
She reaches through me.
Caress my spirit,
and makes love to my mental,
and when we do get physical…
we birth masterpieces.
She comes so easily to me,
She feels right…
and I can’t tell you how many nights we’ve spent together
making me so tired that I would fall asleep on her
knowing that I would wake up the next morning still tasting her.
She taste so good rolling off my tongue.
It’s like…
she was created to be my one,
even if I’m not hers.
It’s ok…
I don’t mind sharing,
cause I know that She will always have time for me.
She will always come to me if I need her
wrap herself around me and hold me together.
She never ignores me.
She knows exactly when something is wrong
that’s why I’m in love with her.
I’ll do anything for her,
kill to reach her,
and dismantle anyone of her lovers that are not worthy…
My parents don’t want me to be with her,
they don’t understand our connection.
Don’t understand why I’m willing to lie to them
just to get a chance to be with her.
Sometimes even just to watch.
Don’t like when we display our affections publicly,
but my baby…
loves attention.
Loves when people watch us,
loves when I watch her with others…
She’s kinda a freak like that.
She’ll allow just about anybody to take her.
Loves when you do it in public places,
the more people,
the better.
She’s a temptress.
Always seducing the young,
I mean she got me when I was just 15.
Showed me things that I had never seen before.
Introduced me to 3-somes
and the exhilaration of 4.
She stood right by my side when the judgmental
made me not want to be with her anymore.
She was there through my break-ups,
and even joined in on some of my relationships.
Helped me with my family issues,
every time I cried she was right by my side.
She was always there…
See baby,
I thought it was about time that I told you
about my love affair…
with poetry.
She means everything to me,
and again I say please don’t take this personally.
I’m sorry,
it’s just you couldn’t please me…
like poetry.
She does it so much better than you…
ever could.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Ink
Dip your pen into my ink.
Let’s create pieces that complete the puzzle of your wet dreams,
I wanna make your wildest fantasies jealous
of me.
What’s your fetish?
Paint me in every shade that lays between naughty...
and nice.
And we can linger on your favorites...
Erotic orange,
missionary red,
or a back breaking black…
Whatever it takes to make you shake like that.
Say my name.
Whisper it in my ear while your pen disappears,
submerge into me...
Let’s birth stories that could make Zane go bankrupt.
Give me whatever ending you choose
and maybe we can make a sequel...
or two.
I’m ready for the tip of your pen to erupt.
Swim with me,
take this dip,
slip in
and we can mess around and go missin’
make me scratch my name into your back.
Then it’s your turn to be the poet
and I your paper,
so cover every inch of me in poetry.
Then read over me…
carefully.
Rearrange me if necessary.
Then it’s time for our show.
Time for you to see how long you can go
and how easily I roll off the tongue.
I could be that one piece that you never get tired of performing.
You’d wake up in the morning still tasting me,
and feignin’ for a hit.
Baby let me take you to levels that exceed ecstasy
trust me,
I glide easily.
Tonight is your night,
and now is not the time to get stage fright.
Or...
we could have an all night writing session.
Just me...
and you.
Pen writing smooth,
never stopping,
me caressing you.
You’re not writing fast enough
and you’re not writing hard enough
Trust I can handle all of your pen strokes
I want you to leave your imprint on all of my pages.
Seep through me.
Maybe you’re not into poetry...
Maybe rapping is your thing,
which means your tongue has a tendency to move quickly.
Please me...
I could be the best 16 that ever came from your lips.
There’s a cipher waiting for you to join in between my hips.
Dip your pen into my ink
And let’s finish our master piece
I’m ready...
and waiting.
Let’s create pieces that complete the puzzle of your wet dreams,
I wanna make your wildest fantasies jealous
of me.
What’s your fetish?
Paint me in every shade that lays between naughty...
and nice.
And we can linger on your favorites...
Erotic orange,
missionary red,
or a back breaking black…
Whatever it takes to make you shake like that.
Say my name.
Whisper it in my ear while your pen disappears,
submerge into me...
Let’s birth stories that could make Zane go bankrupt.
Give me whatever ending you choose
and maybe we can make a sequel...
or two.
I’m ready for the tip of your pen to erupt.
Swim with me,
take this dip,
slip in
and we can mess around and go missin’
make me scratch my name into your back.
Then it’s your turn to be the poet
and I your paper,
so cover every inch of me in poetry.
Then read over me…
carefully.
Rearrange me if necessary.
Then it’s time for our show.
Time for you to see how long you can go
and how easily I roll off the tongue.
I could be that one piece that you never get tired of performing.
You’d wake up in the morning still tasting me,
and feignin’ for a hit.
Baby let me take you to levels that exceed ecstasy
trust me,
I glide easily.
Tonight is your night,
and now is not the time to get stage fright.
Or...
we could have an all night writing session.
Just me...
and you.
Pen writing smooth,
never stopping,
me caressing you.
You’re not writing fast enough
and you’re not writing hard enough
Trust I can handle all of your pen strokes
I want you to leave your imprint on all of my pages.
Seep through me.
Maybe you’re not into poetry...
Maybe rapping is your thing,
which means your tongue has a tendency to move quickly.
Please me...
I could be the best 16 that ever came from your lips.
There’s a cipher waiting for you to join in between my hips.
Dip your pen into my ink
And let’s finish our master piece
I’m ready...
and waiting.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Question, Love...
If you’re asking me if I love you,
I don’t.
If you’re asking me if I’m in love with you,
I’m not…
You are embedded into me.
Your face is permanently engraved into my soul,
I’m surprised you can’t see our history replaying its self in my eyes
every time we exchange glances across galaxies…
but I don’t quite understand you.
Don’t understand what more I have to say.
How many more times do I have to cut open my heart for you?
How many more times do I have to die on this paper for you?
I’m pissed!
But it doesn’t matter…
because I know I will continue to cut open my metaphors
and let them bleed similes
just so I can have a chance for you to smile at me.
I’ll bleed my life out through this ink
and get buried closed pen cap casketed
and be happy just as long as I never have to hear
the beat your heart makes when you’re angry.
Or see the drop in the corner of your eyes
when you are fighting the urge to cry.
And I know this is about to sound cliché
but I love you so much,
that I hate the fact that I’m in love with you.
Boy you can make me do some real corny shit for you!
But I’ll be damned if I cry for you….
again.
Not because I won’t,
just because my rivers have run dry.
Why can’t you understand?
Even now as I sit here watching you do what you do,
I’m happy,
you’re happy…
Though I’m sitting on your sidelines.
I’ll continue to be you’re number one fan
even if you ain’t my man no mo…
but it’ll be a cold day in hell
before I let you question how I feel about you
compared to any other dude.
I’ve answered these questions before.
The answers have not changed
despite if yours remain the same or not.
I know you wonder why
sometimes it’s hard for me to look you in the face.
Trust it has nothing to do with guilt,
it’s just it hurts like hell to look into the face of a future
that I will never get a chance to make.
It hurts too much to see how you doubt my feelings for you.
Your killing me blissfully.
It hurts to say I love you
because the words will never be strong enough.
I could search all human language
and still never find words worthy enough to describe you,
or the way you make me feel with just a simple touch…
But I won’t keep standing here waiting for you to come back to me.
You say you love me,
but I can’t figure out if this is a true lie…
or a false truth,
because the things you do leave stab wounds
covered by your first aid kisses.
Maybe you don’t…
or maybe you just forgot.
I’m not going to stay waiting,
watching you walk away from me.
I’d rather turn with what little dignity I have left
and walk in the opposite direction.
If you want me,
then it’s your turn to come get me.
Don’t ask me if I love you,
when you know that I don’t.
And don’t ask me it I’m in love with you,
when you know that I’m not.
My roots run deeper than these seeds.
Ask me if you can join me on this journey.
Yes, it’s hard for me to walk away from you,
and sometimes I might stumble,
but I’ll keep pushing.
Waiting for you to ask me the right question.
I don’t.
If you’re asking me if I’m in love with you,
I’m not…
You are embedded into me.
Your face is permanently engraved into my soul,
I’m surprised you can’t see our history replaying its self in my eyes
every time we exchange glances across galaxies…
but I don’t quite understand you.
Don’t understand what more I have to say.
How many more times do I have to cut open my heart for you?
How many more times do I have to die on this paper for you?
I’m pissed!
But it doesn’t matter…
because I know I will continue to cut open my metaphors
and let them bleed similes
just so I can have a chance for you to smile at me.
I’ll bleed my life out through this ink
and get buried closed pen cap casketed
and be happy just as long as I never have to hear
the beat your heart makes when you’re angry.
Or see the drop in the corner of your eyes
when you are fighting the urge to cry.
And I know this is about to sound cliché
but I love you so much,
that I hate the fact that I’m in love with you.
Boy you can make me do some real corny shit for you!
But I’ll be damned if I cry for you….
again.
Not because I won’t,
just because my rivers have run dry.
Why can’t you understand?
Even now as I sit here watching you do what you do,
I’m happy,
you’re happy…
Though I’m sitting on your sidelines.
I’ll continue to be you’re number one fan
even if you ain’t my man no mo…
but it’ll be a cold day in hell
before I let you question how I feel about you
compared to any other dude.
I’ve answered these questions before.
The answers have not changed
despite if yours remain the same or not.
I know you wonder why
sometimes it’s hard for me to look you in the face.
Trust it has nothing to do with guilt,
it’s just it hurts like hell to look into the face of a future
that I will never get a chance to make.
It hurts too much to see how you doubt my feelings for you.
Your killing me blissfully.
It hurts to say I love you
because the words will never be strong enough.
I could search all human language
and still never find words worthy enough to describe you,
or the way you make me feel with just a simple touch…
But I won’t keep standing here waiting for you to come back to me.
You say you love me,
but I can’t figure out if this is a true lie…
or a false truth,
because the things you do leave stab wounds
covered by your first aid kisses.
Maybe you don’t…
or maybe you just forgot.
I’m not going to stay waiting,
watching you walk away from me.
I’d rather turn with what little dignity I have left
and walk in the opposite direction.
If you want me,
then it’s your turn to come get me.
Don’t ask me if I love you,
when you know that I don’t.
And don’t ask me it I’m in love with you,
when you know that I’m not.
My roots run deeper than these seeds.
Ask me if you can join me on this journey.
Yes, it’s hard for me to walk away from you,
and sometimes I might stumble,
but I’ll keep pushing.
Waiting for you to ask me the right question.
Angel
You are my Angel.
Heaven sent guardian you blessed me with your protection.
Convinced me that I was beautiful,
introduced me to new things
and showed me how to be everything that I could be.
I owe you this.
Without you I would’ve never found my pen.
Would’ve never been able to create the pieces I’ve written.
You took the time to converse with me
about the verses that flow through me
and I thank you.
You were there being my mother when my mother wasn’t there.
Not that she didn’t want to be
just that she couldn’t
but you could
so you held me.
Told me that she loved me,
showed me how it would feel to have her here.
But you never wanted to take her place
just wanted to hold one by her and love me.
Even though I questioned it at first
I let you in.
And in you I found someone that I could always confide in
I found someone that loved everything about me,
and though sometimes it may feel like I don’t always show it,
you mean the world to me.
I am thankful…
I can’t explain how much I love the fact that you are here.
You are my backbone.
Without you I would crumble,
lose the light at the end of my life’s tunnel.
You showered me with this strange thing called affection,
and broke me out of my shell of shyness.
Showed me how silence would be the death of me,
welcomed me into your family,
and I gained 2 beautiful sisters and 2 wonderful brothers that love me.
Role models that show me how to be a woman and what a man should be.
Gained nieces and nephews that are blossoming beautifully,
becoming people that I feel blessed to know
Gained a grandmother that is drenched in strength, wisdom, and beauty…
I gained a real family
You are exactly what me and my father needed.
You deal with our issues
and I know that we don’t always show our appreciation,
but we were bred differently.
I’m sorry
I know that sometimes you get tired of carrying the world on your shoulders
but I’m ready to help you.
I realize now that even angels need help cleaning their wings…
And since it was me that helped tarnished them,
I will be first in line to make them white again.
You are my angel
Earthbound and humble
I am grateful.
You have chosen to be right here despite everything that I do.
I guess it’s safe to say…
I love you.
Heaven sent guardian you blessed me with your protection.
Convinced me that I was beautiful,
introduced me to new things
and showed me how to be everything that I could be.
I owe you this.
Without you I would’ve never found my pen.
Would’ve never been able to create the pieces I’ve written.
You took the time to converse with me
about the verses that flow through me
and I thank you.
You were there being my mother when my mother wasn’t there.
Not that she didn’t want to be
just that she couldn’t
but you could
so you held me.
Told me that she loved me,
showed me how it would feel to have her here.
But you never wanted to take her place
just wanted to hold one by her and love me.
Even though I questioned it at first
I let you in.
And in you I found someone that I could always confide in
I found someone that loved everything about me,
and though sometimes it may feel like I don’t always show it,
you mean the world to me.
I am thankful…
I can’t explain how much I love the fact that you are here.
You are my backbone.
Without you I would crumble,
lose the light at the end of my life’s tunnel.
You showered me with this strange thing called affection,
and broke me out of my shell of shyness.
Showed me how silence would be the death of me,
welcomed me into your family,
and I gained 2 beautiful sisters and 2 wonderful brothers that love me.
Role models that show me how to be a woman and what a man should be.
Gained nieces and nephews that are blossoming beautifully,
becoming people that I feel blessed to know
Gained a grandmother that is drenched in strength, wisdom, and beauty…
I gained a real family
You are exactly what me and my father needed.
You deal with our issues
and I know that we don’t always show our appreciation,
but we were bred differently.
I’m sorry
I know that sometimes you get tired of carrying the world on your shoulders
but I’m ready to help you.
I realize now that even angels need help cleaning their wings…
And since it was me that helped tarnished them,
I will be first in line to make them white again.
You are my angel
Earthbound and humble
I am grateful.
You have chosen to be right here despite everything that I do.
I guess it’s safe to say…
I love you.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tears Unheard
Tears fall,
hearts stop,
love ends,
death begins,
ears close,
backs turn,
wounds made,
roses bleed,
letters torn,
promises broken,
dreams destroyed,
children aborted,
skin toughens,
faces break,
tears shatter,
minds distort,
minds cry,
minds nevermind,
my mind,
love leaves,
don’t return,
hearts turn,
rivers scream,
pens sing,
fingers pull,
no longer,
joined up,
moons birthed,
frozen suns,
irrelevant me,
the home,
never made,
the girl,
never saved,
she cries,
and then,
worlds end…
hearts stop,
love ends,
death begins,
ears close,
backs turn,
wounds made,
roses bleed,
letters torn,
promises broken,
dreams destroyed,
children aborted,
skin toughens,
faces break,
tears shatter,
minds distort,
minds cry,
minds nevermind,
my mind,
love leaves,
don’t return,
hearts turn,
rivers scream,
pens sing,
fingers pull,
no longer,
joined up,
moons birthed,
frozen suns,
irrelevant me,
the home,
never made,
the girl,
never saved,
she cries,
and then,
worlds end…
Bleeding Moons
I saw her dreaming.
Waiting for the moon to acknowledge her existence.
Saw where her tears left rails that glistened against the light,
she was trying to fight death…
Or maybe it was her life she was trying to win against,
trying to end it.
Tracing the names of those who hurt her into her skin
like her body was her diary,
and her favorite pen…
sliced through her pages easily.
Always writing horizontally.
She’s written some of the best poems in her skin,
but sadly…
I’ve heard them all before.
They sound a lot like the ones i wrote in my yesterdays,
her pen even follows the same strokes.
She’s right handed too…
but she has so much more to lose than i did,
and i wish she wouldn’t follow in my shoes.
They’re much too big for her.
She deserves so much more than my hand me down heartache,
and i want her life to be so much better than mine ever was…
But i guess that’s a little too optimistic,
though gifted with poetic tendencies
she doesn’t quite know how to handle her feelings.
And sometimes…
they overtake her.
And it hurts me to look at her.
It feels too much like putting a puzzle piece mirror back together,
and i don’t really like looking at myself too much.
It makes me face reality,
and it bites just a little too hard.
Leaving teeth marks across my wrists…
my scars never quite healed,
neither physical…
nor emotional.
They just got added to,
and extended.
I understand where she is coming from.
Understand how easily it looks to end it…
Understand how appealing sharp objects can be,
though deadly…
sometimes knives can look a lot like angel wings.
Ready and waiting to comfort
and make everything a lot easier.
But little girl,
you are not alone in this world…
despite how much you thought you were,
and despite how much you want to be.
I hear everything your face is trying to say to me.
But right now I need you to listen.
I’m trying to set an example
Be your sinfully simple savior slicing similes into this paper,
instead of into my skin.
If you’re gonna look up to me,
look up to the person who stands before you,
not the person that lays behind me.
I can’t even explain to you how much your suicidal tendencies are killing me.
I’ve already lost so many…
and now you want to leave me too?
Yeah, i saw you dreaming…
and I’m sorry i didn’t acknowledge your existence sooner.
But now,
I’ve adopted you as little sister
and now I’ll be damned if i let anyone hurt you,
even you…
or any reflection of me.
So hold on for me
fight death for me
cause though you are looking up to me
what you don’t know is I’m looking up to you too
and I’d hate to see my star fall…
but I’ll here to catch you if ever you decide to
i can help heal you
as long as you promise to do the same for me…
your moon…
Waiting for the moon to acknowledge her existence.
Saw where her tears left rails that glistened against the light,
she was trying to fight death…
Or maybe it was her life she was trying to win against,
trying to end it.
Tracing the names of those who hurt her into her skin
like her body was her diary,
and her favorite pen…
sliced through her pages easily.
Always writing horizontally.
She’s written some of the best poems in her skin,
but sadly…
I’ve heard them all before.
They sound a lot like the ones i wrote in my yesterdays,
her pen even follows the same strokes.
She’s right handed too…
but she has so much more to lose than i did,
and i wish she wouldn’t follow in my shoes.
They’re much too big for her.
She deserves so much more than my hand me down heartache,
and i want her life to be so much better than mine ever was…
But i guess that’s a little too optimistic,
though gifted with poetic tendencies
she doesn’t quite know how to handle her feelings.
And sometimes…
they overtake her.
And it hurts me to look at her.
It feels too much like putting a puzzle piece mirror back together,
and i don’t really like looking at myself too much.
It makes me face reality,
and it bites just a little too hard.
Leaving teeth marks across my wrists…
my scars never quite healed,
neither physical…
nor emotional.
They just got added to,
and extended.
I understand where she is coming from.
Understand how easily it looks to end it…
Understand how appealing sharp objects can be,
though deadly…
sometimes knives can look a lot like angel wings.
Ready and waiting to comfort
and make everything a lot easier.
But little girl,
you are not alone in this world…
despite how much you thought you were,
and despite how much you want to be.
I hear everything your face is trying to say to me.
But right now I need you to listen.
I’m trying to set an example
Be your sinfully simple savior slicing similes into this paper,
instead of into my skin.
If you’re gonna look up to me,
look up to the person who stands before you,
not the person that lays behind me.
I can’t even explain to you how much your suicidal tendencies are killing me.
I’ve already lost so many…
and now you want to leave me too?
Yeah, i saw you dreaming…
and I’m sorry i didn’t acknowledge your existence sooner.
But now,
I’ve adopted you as little sister
and now I’ll be damned if i let anyone hurt you,
even you…
or any reflection of me.
So hold on for me
fight death for me
cause though you are looking up to me
what you don’t know is I’m looking up to you too
and I’d hate to see my star fall…
but I’ll here to catch you if ever you decide to
i can help heal you
as long as you promise to do the same for me…
your moon…
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Calling
I stand before you…
Now tell me exactly what you see,
I am giving you this opportunity to judge me,
so what are your eyes telling you?
What lies are they plaguing your mind with?
Who stands before you?
Who do you see?
The baby of the poetry?
This scared little girl,
trapped in a body blossoming before baby believed she was ready…
Break me down…
crack open my skull
cut open my chest
tear through my spirit…
my soul.
Rape my psyche.
Then tell me what you find there…
Define me,
place me in whatever category you decide i fit in.
Stereotype me.
I mean, that’s only if you haven’t already…
don’t sit there and act like you don’t understand me.
Don’t act like you haven’t done this…
before.
Re-name me.
Call me bitch
cunt,
whore,
slut,
nigga,
coon,
pickinini,
jiggaboo,
anything, but beautiful.
Tell me who I am.
What role should I play?
I’m ready for my cue.
Just tell me what you want me to do,
then watch me…
defy you.
Rise above any put down you put up against me.
Call me weak,
and I’ll show you how strong i can be.
Show you that i was born a one-man army,
bred to protect me.
Taught that the only person that could ever really love me…
is me,
so Fuck You.
Tell me I’m not beautiful and I’ll show you what angels look like.
Show you why God painted me in colors as holly as He.
My skin is etched in gold,
sprinkled with chocolate so pure,
it could make all others go out of business.
Hershey kissed by an almond sun.
Skin softer than new born baby angels,
hung over the perfect poem.
My words curve perfectly though slightly premature.
Doubt my intellect,
and I’ll converse with you
on whatever level you decide to take me to.
Exceed your expectations.
My mind is waiting for you to drown in.
Let me show you that my tongue has razor wings
still dripping thoughts from the last battle we encountered.
My mind is varnished vividly with intellectual battle wounds
that only make me smarter,
wiser.
Use your sword to brand me,
call me whatever your mind wishes.
I no longer care what you choose to do
cause it’s not what you’re called…
but what you answer to.
Now tell me exactly what you see,
I am giving you this opportunity to judge me,
so what are your eyes telling you?
What lies are they plaguing your mind with?
Who stands before you?
Who do you see?
The baby of the poetry?
This scared little girl,
trapped in a body blossoming before baby believed she was ready…
Break me down…
crack open my skull
cut open my chest
tear through my spirit…
my soul.
Rape my psyche.
Then tell me what you find there…
Define me,
place me in whatever category you decide i fit in.
Stereotype me.
I mean, that’s only if you haven’t already…
don’t sit there and act like you don’t understand me.
Don’t act like you haven’t done this…
before.
Re-name me.
Call me bitch
cunt,
whore,
slut,
nigga,
coon,
pickinini,
jiggaboo,
anything, but beautiful.
Tell me who I am.
What role should I play?
I’m ready for my cue.
Just tell me what you want me to do,
then watch me…
defy you.
Rise above any put down you put up against me.
Call me weak,
and I’ll show you how strong i can be.
Show you that i was born a one-man army,
bred to protect me.
Taught that the only person that could ever really love me…
is me,
so Fuck You.
Tell me I’m not beautiful and I’ll show you what angels look like.
Show you why God painted me in colors as holly as He.
My skin is etched in gold,
sprinkled with chocolate so pure,
it could make all others go out of business.
Hershey kissed by an almond sun.
Skin softer than new born baby angels,
hung over the perfect poem.
My words curve perfectly though slightly premature.
Doubt my intellect,
and I’ll converse with you
on whatever level you decide to take me to.
Exceed your expectations.
My mind is waiting for you to drown in.
Let me show you that my tongue has razor wings
still dripping thoughts from the last battle we encountered.
My mind is varnished vividly with intellectual battle wounds
that only make me smarter,
wiser.
Use your sword to brand me,
call me whatever your mind wishes.
I no longer care what you choose to do
cause it’s not what you’re called…
but what you answer to.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Faces
Faces hold stories that are unheard by eyes,
souls tend to be captivated by lies told by tangible intangible.
The blueprints to fantasies are found in rainbow roots,
and the map ones heart is found in fingertips.
Lips part to make secrets exist,
but yet eyes don’t listen very well closed.
How different…
love can be…
How badly it can fail to up lift you.
Why do what you know you’ll fail to understand
Tragically,
romance ends too much like the lives of butterflies
touched by oiled tips to eager to hold something so beautiful.
Colors are skewed by you who choose to believe your helping you’re scared of losing…
Why?
Why hold flames that burn wisdom into palms made of ignorance?
Silky forgiveness is found on the velvet surface of sunrise moons…
Torn tears are lost in cracked hearts
bruised and broken.
Eyes burn oceans who’s blue waves rise and break…
alone.
Funny how we seek dark dreams shaken free by angelic nightmares.
Evil cannot exist without good,
but why is good nonexistent?
What makes one happy?
Are smiles drenched in the tears shed from enemy eyes?
Or do the joyous cries of others ricochet and create half circle scars on faces…?
What are smiles?
Half moons?
Or two way mirrors that allow no one to see inside the darkness that lingers behind them?
Are they symbols of true happiness?
or just another lie heard by eyes wide shut?
Emotions run deeper than most family ties…
cause feeling,
is living.
But can you live with what you’re feeling?
Do your emotions over take you,
Or do you burry them inside your spirit?
How different… life can be.
How badly it can fail to uplift you.
But yet we still choose to continue down these paths that lead to our own self destruction,
subconsciously crying out for attention.
Waiting to hear lies said out of repetition stupidity.
But eyes tend to talk to much,
and ears never see the sincerity in words.
But if we would just let our eyes listen,
for a moment…
then maybe we would finally be able to hear the stories that faces hold…
souls tend to be captivated by lies told by tangible intangible.
The blueprints to fantasies are found in rainbow roots,
and the map ones heart is found in fingertips.
Lips part to make secrets exist,
but yet eyes don’t listen very well closed.
How different…
love can be…
How badly it can fail to up lift you.
Why do what you know you’ll fail to understand
Tragically,
romance ends too much like the lives of butterflies
touched by oiled tips to eager to hold something so beautiful.
Colors are skewed by you who choose to believe your helping you’re scared of losing…
Why?
Why hold flames that burn wisdom into palms made of ignorance?
Silky forgiveness is found on the velvet surface of sunrise moons…
Torn tears are lost in cracked hearts
bruised and broken.
Eyes burn oceans who’s blue waves rise and break…
alone.
Funny how we seek dark dreams shaken free by angelic nightmares.
Evil cannot exist without good,
but why is good nonexistent?
What makes one happy?
Are smiles drenched in the tears shed from enemy eyes?
Or do the joyous cries of others ricochet and create half circle scars on faces…?
What are smiles?
Half moons?
Or two way mirrors that allow no one to see inside the darkness that lingers behind them?
Are they symbols of true happiness?
or just another lie heard by eyes wide shut?
Emotions run deeper than most family ties…
cause feeling,
is living.
But can you live with what you’re feeling?
Do your emotions over take you,
Or do you burry them inside your spirit?
How different… life can be.
How badly it can fail to uplift you.
But yet we still choose to continue down these paths that lead to our own self destruction,
subconsciously crying out for attention.
Waiting to hear lies said out of repetition stupidity.
But eyes tend to talk to much,
and ears never see the sincerity in words.
But if we would just let our eyes listen,
for a moment…
then maybe we would finally be able to hear the stories that faces hold…
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