i spend my days
pouring myself into the cups of others

only to find that
when it’s time for myself
to take a sip

all that’s left
in my cup
is the remainder of a girl
who gave too much

Brushes softly stroked
no anger only patience
love gentle as a dove

God made me and He gave me a heart of gold
See, my black skin is as pure as my soul
So, judge not my vessel by its outer coat
Look inside this vessel and see what it holds

Royalty runs through my arteries and veins
Efforts to put us under is efforts in vain
Because — Still, We Rise! like Maya said
I'm black excellence, a voice that cannot be silenced.

On my windowsill,
of that indigo night
you took me,
and I haven't
been the same since.

Something about you
makes me want to
be a better man.
I've grown wings,
so I take to the sky.

My imagination is on break
Everything needs a {     }
I don’t feel like writing
Tonight my hand wants the can
Not the wand
Pabst instead of prose
Headache instead of heartache.

There are moments.
Moments for those of us who care to look.
moments where
a piece of light hits a tree in a way
that
makes
you
realize
everything is going to be ok.

that
everything is in its right place.

There are times in life
when a torn leaf
scraping against the moon spit concrete
powered by nothing but the invisible breeze
can
give
you
hope
that
tomorrow will be blazingly bright.

Hope that someone else will see and hear these tiny things
and know in their bones what they are:
they are god.

plain
and
simple.

Sun crashing through the windows and spilling all over the breakfast table.

Squinted eyes looking out at the everything. Focused out there: Trees. Grass. Light. Dirt. Adventure.

Fruity pebbles drenched in whiteyellow light.

The creaky screen door and the blue steps.

Chipped paint. Splintered wood.
  
The smell of fresh cut grass.

The smell of dirt caked to our bodies.

The smell of heat and sweat and summer. 

A Baseball glove lying half hidden in the grass.  

A bike parked under the biggest evergreen tree in the world.  

A skateboard under your moms beat up rusty car.

Hands digging through dirt searching for some ancient secret. 

Super secret plans drawn on paper towels.  

****** kneecaps and wooden playgrounds.  

The sound of tires on gravel.

The sound of your laugh.

The sound of your sister crying.

The sound of bodies slapping against the water.  

The creek.

Deeper, longer and more profound than any other creek on the planet.

The woods.

The endless woods and all the beautiful and terrifying things they offered us every day.

The forever extending ripple my bobber sent through the ***** water of that small pond.

My back against the blades of green.

The dipping sun.

The puffs of white in the sky and branches dancing.

Unlimited.

All encompassing.  

Magic.  

Pure.

Beautiful innocent ignorance.  

Freedom.

I'll just be a thing one day
All past tense
And half memories
A breath
In a sea of exhales
You'll remember me again though
When you're old and alone and quiet and open one day
Probably just my lips or a smile or
how our skin felt when pressed
But just a breeze
A half memory
Something you once knew
All possibility
No regret
Just a breath.