the sadistic lover

When they talk of love

darkness envelopes you

you bleed into paper tears dripping on feathers

slow as the kiss of death

when they talk of love

you shrink back into a star

bright you flicker

as you bleach your heart into salt

when they talk of an ever ending love

you run on clipped wings

flapping soundless as a thief

tripping and flying

when they talk of a failed love

you stand arrogant shaking your hips

to a tune from your sculpted mouth

you twirl life a leaf in bliss about to mate with the sun

you carve the smirk into your soul with super glue

when they turn to you for comfort

you take their nimble hands into your eyes sockets and let the tears drown them

your clothes permeated with bitter dark chocolates and blue rainbows

you hug them close while you watch them sink with a smirk

the dreamer

i am filled

with the possibility of fear unsure of how to move, of how to breathe, yet with the rise of the sun i become a master performer, one foot in front of the other taking note of the rise of the chest, i move in slow agony plowing through life

not a dreamer i settle for the sleepless night, eyes glued to the blue walls unable to whisper a prayer into my thirsty hands

i lay wide awake

the need to cry grabs and holds me captive

all is well is well,

all is well and the breaking commences, the hands attentive to the need to collect every single laughter into a bottle

yet

nothing rises. nothing sounds

so i turn to face you and watch as you attempt to dream with the restlessness of youth and i become a prisoner to your black curls

this life hurts to breathe into, the pockets sagging with each rejection, you begin to think the world’s air is polluted, and begin to wonder what would your dream taste like, will there be a hint of spice to highlight the need for a breath?

Living Moments

  1. that sounds like a personal issue
  2. pay off your loans
  3. there is always a better deal somewhere else
  4. you have to move and God will walk alongside you
  5. keep on moving
  6. if you can not find something nice to say about each other, it is time to leave
  7. if you love them. But you dont love yourself, take a pause always
  8. what does it feel like to sleep with the oppressor?
  9. if you wake up and you have nothing to laugh about, that too is okay
  10. i do not want to live my life wondering where i come from when i could just pack and sit by my grandmother’s side
  11. it is okay to have regrets and it is also okay to forgive yourself
  12. remember that there people who hold you dear and that it is okay to love them back
  13. you can not make a home in people,
  14. i do not have time to spend chasing cold beds and sleepless nights, i have me to deal with and I am more than enough
  15. i am heavy in every sense  and I will not cut myself to fit into your mouth
  16. i do not date boys who are in search for mothers. These tubes are tied.
  17. there are people who will carry you on your back but not I. Ever
  18. you never have enough shoes. JK!
  19. i don’t need a lot of people to be happy, i need friends who know the magic of dark nights and cutting tongues
  20. i am in love with women who love themselves who teach me how to love myself
  21. every move i make is a blessing and your presence is not needed in order for me to breathe
  22. do not be fooled by their silence, the silence about the body is costing them
  23. to the boy who said you turn me on, and looked shocked when i said i do not feel the same way, this too is a learning moment for the both of us. Yes, I can choose myself today and all the days to come.  And that is okay
  24. my tights can not teach you how to stay..  so they are not open
  25. if he is woke but does not move. It is simple, i can move and have been doing so for years- the packing
  26. my love cost heavily but is so worth it
  27. i do not know how to give half of myself so i do not
  28. black women have been failed over and over again and i will not fail myself
  29. how can we live without a purpose?
  30. what is home?
  31. it is okay to desire the rough and the soft of your own choosing
  32. so what if he is gay and moved to live his life? why do you feel the need to pet yourself on the back by saying but it is not like i have a problem. who cares, he did not care about your opinions and so left and in doing so he chose himself
  33. talking about women’s right and fighting for women rights does not make me an angry woman but simply one who see the world around her and acknowledges that her body matters
  34. we do not choose to be depressed, depression is not something we make up so we can collect our daddy paychecks. #misconspections
  35. yes, you can run with intent and in this there can be peace, hope and your full self present

 

L’Enfant Manque

the price of a failed boy is a woman who was born a girl. this is about girls

about the first born who were meant to be boys but were born girls clothed in boys attire since birth to perfect the dreams of parents who prayed for a son, the marker of success, the marker of pride.

L’enfant manque

the marker of shame

the markers of failure

the markers of scars she carries between her legs will be her clothing, her language

she will meet the other first borns- birthed right, the boys.. who played being boys like boys and lived in the wings of their fathers. boys…

Yet,  she will not fear.

Like they too, she sports the haircut, her imprints on the ball.  She too will know his waist, as she rides like boys, but never like great men. Her father beamed with pride, and she beamed belonging among great men.

When her sister is born, she will learn that girls who dresses as boys but will be read as failed girls becoming great men. She will be read as a child play. It will be pulled right of her tights by great men and it will fall into her lap and she will carry it with each scar that he will inflict. .They will beat her voice out of her, whisper if she died, it would not matter to me while smiling, and scope her childhood with their right middle finger. From that day on, she will learn to wear her skirts loosely around her tights, sporting the cut ready for a ride.

gone in four seconds

four gunshots

we held our breaths praying it was the fourth of July on a humid summer day in August. Chicago.

the screeching of the black car. gone. a life lost.

A laugh missed, a smile missed. all gone in four seconds. no screams, no shots, the wailing of the ambulance, the police cars. the bodies taking into account the lost. yet no sounds from the beings.

They are dead. she said. pop..

gone goes the illusion of home. gone goes the dreams.

i hope they died happily. they died close to their goals and dreams. may they be mourned with laughter of joy and sadness.