Do not let our love be forged in sweet ease,
Nor should vanity be used as our base.
Let not our joy be a product of peace,
Nor should we dwell on our warmest embrace.
Let our love be a product of roughness,
Let it be steeped in our tears and shed blood.
Let our anger be the source of toughness,
And we will stand against the coming flood.
Let all the others take their unearned love,
With its ease and hugs, and their flowers, too.
So that when, as always, push comes to shove
We will stand as one, not apart as two
The flood will sweep away all the others
As we stand as the only true lovers.
I married him for all the wrong reasons
his dashing good looks
leave something to be desired
the added addition
to his bank books,
which was a God sent
in this winter of my hardship
And by this all being tragically said
Never once have I bothered to check out the family tree
a sensible adjustment
I divorced him for all the right reasons his
Cheating and dealing
and his inexperienced lovemaking
This was worse than any dealing
For they see and read not,
For they read and know not,
For they know and act not,
For they act and be false,
For they are false and be deceitful,
For they are deceitful and be ungrateful,
For the time is near at hand now,
For the hand of life grows old,
For the old do hold the hand of death,
For it was long ago said,
For it was said and also written,
For it was written and now it shalt be so...
A Father sins,
His sons struggle.
Burst the bubble.
I'll take a couple.
Life's a fight,
So build with muscle.
Don't blame the game,
Blame your hustle.
If life's a Bytch,
Then rock a muzzle.
If she gets you down,
Just relax and snuggle.
Cause when it rains, it pours;
So splash the puddles.
Late the rich rein, and we're poor,
barely surviving daily struggles.
Scratching away life; daily doubles
The good doing wrong, to ease the troubles.
breathing in the dust
i wonder how much longer i have to be here.
in the dim light i try to read,
i drift off to sleep and so do my lamp
i woke up the next morning and,
again i breath in the dust.
each day is harder to live,
today becomes worst than yesterday's
i just hold in my tears, to give another person hope,
that tomorrow is on the way.
starvation for food, starvation for knowledge,
none is greater than the other.
i woke up to wear the same outfit as yesterday's
the freedom of being happy was robbed from me,
by something i don't know or understand.
The door throbs with sweat
In the morning-tide
"Whom can come at this time?"
A friend, I bet.
I stalk the sound until I reach the knob.
I open it to see the face of a cop.
Some questions spewed out of the mans mouth,
about if I have seen this other man printed on some page.
Then showed me of this woman,
which coincidentally is the one I've been raised.
They stepped in with no approbation
Suddenly, the atmosphere grew with scads of tension.
They access themselves into my home.
And snooped about the room, with noses to the ceiling.
I got this panicky feeling.
Again with the interrogation.
The only thing that fled through my mind was irritation.
Words came at me and caused an explosion.
Never have I felt more broken...
I constructed this stockade
to stable myself from memory lane.
And to have it easily be destroyed,
made me realize of all that I've been trying to avoid.
The men left, leaving me with bricks to recollect.
It was not a friend, that I have bet...
A wise man once told me that all people are like precious metals.
He told me this in different words than I will use, but I took this to heart.
We are mined from dirty places; these miners see the value that lies beneath our harsh surface.
We are plucked from our resting places, sent to great, large cities where we will be put over fire to burn out our impurities.
We will go through pain and fire.
We will melt and be tortured.
We will cry and scream and we will suffer.
All of our repulsive imperfections will float to the top while this is happening.
To purify gold, it must be melted.
To purify silver, it must be melted.
It must be melted and the rough slag that exists within and without these bits of precious metal must float to the top to be extracted. Sometimes, this process must happen multiple times.
Sometimes, we must use chemicals and medicines to make sure it happens properly.
To purify us, we must be melted.
These are our trials in life.
This fire represents our hardships.
This fire represents every life change that we don't want to happen, but must pull through.
This fire represents each truth that we don’t want to know, but have to accept.
This fire represents each person that walks in and out of our lives like rainstorms, pouring for hours and moments before disappearing on the wind, never to be seen again.
This fire represents each night we must spend alone, crying for someone to save us.
This fire is us.
This fire is self-preservation.
This fire doesn't last.
And after the fire is over, and our imperfections are drawn away from us, we are perfect.
Of course no one is ever perfect, but no metal is ever completely perfect; everything that glitters is not gold.
After the fire has died, and we have been poured into new molds, into new people, we are stronger.
With our disfigurements gone, our molecules bond tighter to form a stronger metal.
With our faults gone, we sparkle and shine for the world to see.
After we have been pulled from the ground, after the fire has died, after we have come out as stronger, prettier people, there is still a chance for staining. We may scuff and stain, we may grow new impurities, but then we must suffer fire again.
It is an ongoing process.
We are never perfected.
We are ever changing, yet we are solid as metal.
A wise man once told me that I resembled gold, that everyone around me resembled gold. He once explained this to me in such a way that it changed my mind about hardship.
I now meet it with open arms.
If I couldn’t handle the fire, it wouldn’t burn for me.
A wise man once told me that eventually, when the fire was extinguished, I would be a stronger person.
A wise man once explained to me that I am not alone, that everyone must hurt to get stronger, and that I will emerge from the fire.
This man changed my life, and I hope that maybe I can change someone else’s life.
That maybe I can help scrape the imperfections from someone’s boiling surface.
That maybe I can help myself become purer, by purifying some other gold or silver.
After all, at the end of the day, a wise man once told me we are all like precious metals:
We are all gold.
She beckons me,
with fickle hand,
in silken gloves,
to her demand.
Her crown above,
Her veiled face
Her body poised,
with noxious grace.
Her harsh decree,
i kneel down,
beneath Her feet.
Her hands swing down,
Her gloves grow red,
She sends me off,
i must comply,
such is my lot,
until i die.
i can't prepare,
i simply wait,
for greedy hands,
i know as Fate.