There are 9 ways to say “Yes”- Preoccupied

I made too much room,

In my home with no foundation;

For a person who 

Didn’t plan on paying rent,

Didn’t intend on using the dresser drawer- 

that I reserved for them,

Who didn’t want to furnish the basement.
I made too much space,

In my life with an tentative driveway;

For a person who

Put me on the back burner,

Put me on bottom shelf of the broken bookcase,

Who put me in second place.
That house is no longer up for sale- 

Highest bidder agreed-

“‘Twas time to go-”

“Mmhmm.” I replied, scanning the roof shingles, hanging on by one collective nail, awaiting a big bad wind to blow it down, lifting up from its place ever so slightly knowing it must stay put til’ told to let go.
Like Pipes in Winter, I burst.

Like Dawn at 5, I break.

Like Doves in the Wind, I release.

Another One

Half an apple pie sits on the counter-

I’m holding out for you.
It’s times like this
When I’m
Too prideful to say “Hey”.
Too angry to say “I miss you”.
Too scared to say “Happy Birthday”.
Just because of the sheer fact that
On the surface, the cracks in my cheeks,
Hide underneath mocha foundation
So that not even light can shine through… 

But somehow you always do;

Break these walls down,
Brighten two days and a mood.
But, I won’t admit it to you
But, something real pulls me to you…
Because holding you in my arms felt/

The apple pie lingers on,
With a core pulsing out of its crust-
 

I’m waiting to trust you.
It’s times like this
When I’m
Willing to make you my King.
Willing to make you smile.
Willing to make you my everything;
All over again…

I begin to cut my slice…
And I fall, back to the bridge where we used to be. Right next to Honeymoon Avenue.

Bon Anniversaire Mon Chou Chou

Happy Nappy

i remember
being small
and fantasizing straight silky hair
just like Mommy, like the girls on boxes of
“Just For Me”

i remember
my relaxers
and all the hot combs
like brandings on horses that were
“Fixed”

i remember
tear stains
and wet eyes swelling
like a bubble with too much air, too much
“Naps”

It was too thick
Like deep forests in Africa
It was too nappy
Like Slave Masters whipping in fields for cotton
It was too natural
Like society didn’t want me.

Eleven years later; I’m hiding the
BEAUTY
That God gave me; under weaves and headwraps

 

If only someone had told me back then
that black was beautiful
Maybe I wouldn’t be in the shadows now.

Weird

It’s weird you know
to feel this good
without it being at the
hands
of a man or a woman

To feel good
asexually
singularly
alonely

is it a shift in dichotomy?
Of empowering femininity?
Or maybe it’s just me
Settling in on I

The earth seems to stop
Allowing me to move freely

Now this is true
Happiness

Not My Brownstone

At last,
the room may stand as the museum of clothes
the dishes may remain pasta night stained
the floor may slightly be coated with bunnies

The giggles of grandma echo in the grand single
Sweeping in with the chirps of robins
Washing over my eardrums like the whoosh of
blowing out a candle
the room stands is

I can feel the internal
tug-O-war
surging with the flickering, dying bulb
my arms outstretched, fingers sprawled
like the edges of a carelessly cut rope
fortune teller reading the palm of my hand
and then
a white folded fortune teller lays in my other palm

A frustrating hiatus in the audacity of living in the real world

The void of NYC road trips on the MTA
with grandma’s wrinkled hand intertwined with mine
as we watch Bedstuy streets roll by
can’t be filled
but the whispers of her voice
float on the wings of the wind
fluttering in and out the non-insulated
of this subconscious

But at last,
The room can remain haphazardly thrown about
The dishes can remain mitch-matched
The floor can remain swifer free

I’d only wish, they’d come by
and
tell me to clean…

The absence cigarette burn stings

How to be Happy [Revised]

Step 1: Be You
Explore the hidden, cloaked with bats caverns of your soul with one big flashlight in hand. Find you hiding in the shadow world of your insecurities. Write ’em down in script, seal it with some spit and remember who you are when the world spins outside. Dig deep and pull out all the dirt “The Man” pushed you under. Stand up and roar your thunder!

Step 2: Love
Thyself more than anyone else. Who says you can’t love you like Kanye loves Kanye? Before you give yourself up you give yourself gifts, like Jesus once got his, -gold, fucking sense and fur!

Step 3: Dream
Dream a dream that burns your ass from passion, pushes you off a cliff forcing you to fly. “No dream is too big and no person too small” Be like Gatsby just minus the lies and the spies. Think of it more like he always dots his i’s and crosses his e’s.

Step 4: Believe:
that all the broadway scripts you’ve set out in your head about how your life will play won’t win that emmy award but you are not to stop 100 feet before the yellow tape of the your imaginary finish line. McDonalds wasn’t built in a day

Step 5: Fail
Crash and burn because everyone does at some point in their life. They hit a wall and smash into a million pieces but take some time to piece themselves together again. How you gone get up if you’ve never been knocked down?

Eighteen

The big one, it’s supposed to hit you hard

Like a ton of balloons filled with bricks

Right in the face;

And explode confetti everywhere.

The big one, it’s supposed burn bright red

But bleed white smoke

Up into your system

And explode happiness and glee into your brain.

Overjoyed you should  be

High as a cloud you could be

Happy as shit you would be

But, alas, you are not.

Overdosed you are

Hitting too hard is what you like

“Holla” you are shouting

But that’s not who you are.

Eighteen, Happy Birthday to me

But it doesn’t feel like a celebration.

The weed just continues to billow up like snakes in the air above;

Signaling sweet sins before me.

I indulge.

Eighteen, finally eighteen.

Reflection #11

Camp. Is. Almost. Over. For. Me 😦
This week’s theme: A free for all

So these two weeks weren’t too bad, it was just a struggle to get pictures of flowers and be inspired.

One of these posts was dedicated to my mother who died of stage four kidney cancer back in 2010. May she rest in peace. These past two weeks I tried some literary elements such as something close to alliteration- where the first letter of the word has to continue in the sentence (sweet,savory sandwich for example) except I did it in alphabetical order going down a line stopping at the letter O for my mother.

Next week I want to write about something other than boys and relationships because it can get a bit boring and redundant for me after a while. I mean, people can relate to it in one way or another but jeez! My life doesn’t revolve around boys. Boys will come and go like buses so I don’t have to waste time writing about them now right? There will be time for that later. It’ll be tough though because you can’t live with then but you can’t live without them, but I’ll survive. If the some of the posts happen to be about boys- don’t ridicule me.

The next few posts won’t have a theme threading through them mainly because I’ve had trouble coming up with one that’ll interest me. So it’ll just be random posts that come to me during the next two weeks, some will even be throwbacks and I’ll state which one they are. Also the second week of writing will have literary elements/styles! They may be weak but they’ll be something! Hey it’s the thought that counts right? But yeah that’s that. Also I’m going to try making them stories instead of poetry because I would love to produce a book in my future so this is a great place to start.

I hope you enjoy reading just as much as I enjoy writing!

Toodles!

“Passion for the finer things, and you know it’s only getting worse. I ain’t got no diamond ring but I’m gunna make it work.” – Justine Skye

Santa?

It didn’t snow that Christmas. Well it never really snowed down here in Savannah, Georgia on the dark side of the tracks. Tumbleweeds flew across the railroad tracks as the sun blazed high in the sky. But it was Christmas for everyone else-for us it was just another day we were happy to live. My brothers and I awoke on our mattress to the sound of privileged children frolicking down our streets with their toys in hand and smiles on faces. We awoke next to each other in shabby clothing we’d worn for weeks. We didn’t say anything; we just sat in the silence for a moment.
After fully realizing we had been given another day on this god-forsaken earth we moved to living room. Nothing had changed which means nothing was taken in dark of the night but something was different. The floors still creaked, the window still boarded up, the couch still covered with dust and no Christmas tree stood in the corner of our dusty, dark, damp living room but something was different. Mother was gone for the day and father had long passed away so we just stood at the door of the living room but something was different.
On the table laid out was an apple, orange and nuts for my brothers but for me on the other side of the room was an apple, orange and small rag doll. Smiles slithered upon our faces and hope for happy days filled our hearts. We couldn’t have been happier.
I suppose it was Christmas after all; for everyone. Even for the kids on the dark side of the tracks down here in blazing Savannah. But there was no Santa. No snow. No Christmas tree. No reindeers or grumpy grinch down here in this side of the track.

But it was Christmas after all.