Conditioning 

There were times when my conditioning shouted at my feminism for growing against the grain Because it’s frowned upon 


There were times when my conditioning yearned to sugarcoat every micro-aggression shadily thrown my way
There are times when I could go shooting for no reason at all Because gun control is no longer in our hands
I could go crazy

I could go off

I could burn this motha down

But
There were times when my conditioning allowed me to be another nigger 

Waiting to play the fiddle

Or tap dance for whatever I was told I could have
This time my conditioning does not control-
Anything.

Foreign 

You don’t know what it feels like to not have a language

For your own kind

When it’s appropriated as a fad

To not have an understanding for your sacred language
To not have a place to call home within the borders of the imaginary lines of a country who lenses are fixated on the progression of the white race
You don’t know what it feels to be “Foreign”

Hands Up

There is a vacancy to this room
An absence of silence lingers on 

The end of bed frames

A crack screaming in the chip of the paint on the walls
I wonder if this is how mothers feel

When their sons are shot down

And the bedroom reeks of remnants of a lost soul
I throw my hands up in the air

In a sigh of relief

While young men fall to their knees

Onto bloody concrete 
I wonder if a black man is shot down in the street and a white cop sees

Do he make a sound?

You Ever Just Write?

You ever write just in case

Just in case that snowflake falls 

The cocoa boils 

And the conversation stretches out far
To write just in case

The tulips blossom

And the two lips open to fill the space between one another
To write because allergies 

Make it hard to breathe

And you sneeze and sneeze and sneeze and sneeze and sneeze 
Blessing you

With a hard drive of smooth talking

Even though it’s only smooth

On flat one sided paper
You ever write just in case

The humidity sweats it out of you

And the paper catches drip drops of silhouettes 

Of words of angst and Baltimore
You ever write

Just in case

As if

This were your last day.

Forever or A Day

My life is forever juxtaposed
By the splinter of a
Man Made America

My sheep skin
Banana peels off my body,
As it dries like a raisin in the sun of a cotton field

My innocent impending tragic life dangles
On the balls of my poptart yearning body

Lollipop stolen by the dog next door
From the mouth of a teenager relaxing on the phone

My life is forever
Just one penis away
From being sweet and sour, as a pineapple,
Rabbit fucked by a “supposed to be seemingly harmless man”

A vigorous struggle
Of looking over my shoulder
And knowing the world steadily gets colder

My life will never be forever

Hello Kind Policeman

I don’t want to be token
Because then I am taken for granted
I don’t want to the majority
Because then I am a major threat
I want to live
Because I can’t breathe

Red white and blue sirens
Strangle me
Multiplying my fears
Subtracting my brothers and sisters
Dividing us by means of approach
Adding on brutality

You do the math
What’s the problem for us both?

Happy New Year

Cheers,
let us toast to another year of brutality
where the weather is bi-polar
and the law is wrongfully enforced

Cheers to another year of hidden, not-so-subtle racism slithering into our next year
Can’t you hear the voice from the graves?
They’re shouting “I can’t breathe”
in lustful harmonies

Cheers,
let us toast to all the moments of silence
Where everyone is waiting for the apocalypse
and no one is picking up the bodies

Cheers to another year of Amurica