Interlude To A Kiss
Ever felt the earth move
the cold slap of an electric shock
there are a million ways to describe it
but the best way to know
is if you kiss me
again
My Poetry
Women’s Plight
Change is a bitter strange fruit
that shapes at my crevices
the hurts sting
nothing is static tree
the world opened up for me
whispering sweet things and
promises that are easily broken
can i change back
shed knowledge for ignorance’s bliss
i can’t do that
Adam’s rib is in too deep
heat chases me across the plains
grazes my thighs, moist
the inside of a pomegranate
is that how i taste
The sky quakes with hate
as the All Mighty desecrates the landscape
out cast
lone harlot
He pushed me aside
to stay in It’s good graces.
To Be As
be as dark as the night
your ancestors crawled from
teeth shining like stars
be black as the mines
your brothers mine for diamonds
fade when you see the guns
coming
Bleeding Hearts
Under the cover of night he slips in
married slaves rarely saw each other by daylight
rutting in darkness
they memorize the contours of the eyes
the pulsating warmth just below the skin
he nuzzles in
to distract from the pain
rain comes
cloaked in wet blankets
to steal my energy
but i don’t want to sleep
i want to see what mysteries he’s keeping
what frustrations he’s brought
beneath the mask of calm
what havoc he hath wrought
before he bites down
the pressure ripe to explode soon
from the surrounding flames
i turn to douse the
fire’s night amid the moonlight
as he creeps away cursing
a bleeding heart he leaves behind
hoping one day
I’ll give him mine.
To My First Love
Hello Brooklyn,
The first time it hit me that I was in love with you B, thought it was bugged how you had me. Talked about you to my friends, acquaintances, co workers constantly, like let me introduce you to this dude I knew. Come through, I’ve got someone I want to show you. It was unbelievable, that new shit. Name on my tongue, scribbling shit cross my notebook since May 23rd, birth. My foretold, my first.
Fresh, like grade school when I stumbled through the phonics of my parents language. Clumsy, children running with ice cream cones, elated by the frozen joy they’ve been sold and the elusive notion that it will all be gone soon. Ice on a steaming stove, love was dripping off my chin, Brooklyn. My style was molded to my speech in the exact shape that you picked out for me. You taught me how to think, and I didn’t mind because I trusted you mind and soul. I walked through the streets bigging you up to everyone I knew, defending your slandered name, until you took a swing and my face was your aim.
Safe to say I had to go, yet I thought without a doubt that you loved me. Who was going to take me in? This chick with an accent and attitude accentuated to suit you. This chick with secrets that sometimes came unglued at just the wrong moments.
My love laid dormant while I bounced around from house to house until he caught me. You know Poetry wasn’t just an affair he was my passion. I love him unconditionally because I know he’d never leave me.
Days spent after school when I should’ve been doing homework, I wrote him. Notes, letters, words, verbs, similes laid sweetly next to metaphors and phrases, quotes, scribbles, and rants. Guess he had me open. I’d wake up at 3 am with his voice in my ear, touching each one of my thoughts until they strapped suicide bombs to their chests and explode with new ideas and ways for me to love him.
We were so real that I’m sorry Brooklyn but that first thing didn’t appeal. We were inseparable. I couldn’t get enough, like platanos and collard greens.
I’ll always miss you, but
He listened to me.
Cuddled up to my natural kush, I wanted to be with him more than anything
fated to be
like a Vandross rift
like coolaid sugar stains lingering on my smiling lips
I thanked God for this poetical gift and a green notebook to hold my words down whenever inspiration kicks up.
Don’t misunderstand one day I will come back, because the voice I found with you helped stumble every word I ever wrote into existence. There is more to be done where I am. I can’t abandon him.
Just know you are here with me in the things I carry.
Love,
The Poet
The One
Everyday you get up for the one.
That Alicia Keys song that was kind of nice once, that’s for the one.
When their eyes feel like the only ones to have ever seen you, that’s the one.
When you can count the beauty marks on his forearm and remember each design, then that’s the one.
Remember that they like honey over sugar,
Remember that their shoulders are broad for a girl, but perfect.
The one isn’t perfection.
Remember that the one is not perfection.
The one will be the one who likes you as a person.
The one will be the one who hates tattoos but loves yours.
The one will be all you need.
Miss the one.
Hold out for the one.
Remember not to pull away,
to tell yourself the truth,
to always tell the one the truth,
because they will always deserve the truth.
The one will deserve a better part of you.
The one may be a dream, question their existence.
The one may be the one to show up when you least expect it.
When everything’s great or all hell breaks loose,
that hole in your heart,
that strength you need,
that one,
that one thing that makes it worthwhile,
well,
I guess that’s the one.
Sometimes
Sometimes my pillows
capture a piece of your scent
and I can’t sleep
I dream up cheap
imitations of my own imagination
I gather up the bits
place them into my necklace
and hit replay
to get through the day.
The Come Back
The day you promised you’d come back
my heart filled with fear
i knew i could never keep you here
so i smile as you turn around
that way you’ll miss the tears
and keep on walking
i hope
to a love that’s near.
Melted
My baby don’t love me no more
maybe he never did
i melted
into the floorboards waiting
for him to come home
comb through the knots
in our relationship
married to my hair
i cut it
out, cancerous strands grew
there from where he’d grab
dig his fingers deep into the roots
then pull
snatch
take
all they do is take
your breasts your likeness your body is gone in an instant
without so much as a hand hold
cuckholded lacily held yesterdays
where’s yesterday
he wont even look at me anymore
crawling past the door
towards another chest
but i need to love to want him
don’t know if it made a difference
now its just
wanting leaving the wanted with longing
Pray for me I’ve seen too much
of these buh bye boys to men
to children.
Gone But Not Forgotten
Lest we not forget
fateful days that
molded a people in the belly of a torn open beast
in the name of someone else’s peace
The Poetry Corner 