My mind sits as a
Soft infant
Trapped in a
a gangling crib
Of despair with
No way out

I feel I am
Helpless, small,
And worst of all
A loud
nuisance

Heavy hands toss
and tear as the veil of
peace is torn

Dense punches leap out of the sea
and meet with the sharp strikes of the winter air

The ocean and the wind

Two childish men bickering
with bloodied hands
brawling to caress the soft
curves of the sultry sand

My life is a poem
that is being written
day by day

It’s not pretty right now
nor will it be next week
and it might not make sense next year
but it’s coming baby

line by line it’s
getting better

one
after another
and then the next

I can't wait for
you to read it when
I'm finished

Fear, anxieties, and
failures circle above my head

they are vultures scouring for
the once dead flesh I was

But now I am alive,
now I am
free

They fly through my mind like before
but they are unable to make nests
now

Made a couple extra dollars last week
well actually it was a check to be
exact and now
it’s gone

I used it as a bookmark for the time
being, but forgot which book I left
it in

Now on a brisk Tuesday morning in October
the only thing that stands between me and
a smooth cup of coffee is a stack of
crinkled books

Slowly but surely, I ****** up the tattered copies
of Dickinson, and Tolstoy, and Lawrence, and Byron
tossing through the pages

Not a drop of worry enters my mind, knowing it’s
in one of the books but I just have to find it
and hell, it’s going to be sticking out of the top
there’s no way I could have misplaced it too bad
I’m not a complete fool after all

“Just gotta get through the books and
all the money is mine,
all the money in the world”
I say musing myself

You know, I actually went to a place
for four years straight and I swear they told me
the exact same thing

“Just get through the books and you’ll have
all the money in the world” was all I heard relentlessly
from the teachers, students, and myself
all while I was giving them
all the money I had in the world yet here I stand broke
scraping for change

I guess I am a fool after all

“Where is the rest for the weary?”,
Cried out the sappy sun.

The burden of lighting up the
world left his own soul lusterless.

His blistered fingers handed down his glow
as he stood frozen up high in
his onerous profession, keeping
a bright smile in a baby blue prison.

In his own shame, the pitiful sun covered himself,
boosting his rays so no man could beam their eyes up
To see his dreary tears.

After work he would blaze back home
Dreading the next day to come while
countless stars flooded outside his home,
Night after night
Begging for his spot and
Dreaming of his celebrity.

While the stars pounded on his door, inside
He emptied endless tears out of the well of his heart
But he could never let go of his pride.
So, season after season he suffered in the spotlight
all to hold on to his futile fame.

Take a turtle from his shell.
and tell me what he is.

Naked or homeless?

Neither,
he’s dead.

Somber showers
Pounce onto the windowpane
As the storm drags on, while
Brighter days seem
Distant
the melancholy
Gallops closer

Distress sneaks in
and disrupts my stillness all
too well

I become nervous,
no
I become frightened,
no… I… become
scared?

I become everything
except fine

as my hands grip my head
the thought
arises
to slash through my scalp
and snap through the skull
snatching out every thought
that would dare detour into
the solace of my mind

but I won’t do it
I am … a liar,
I am afraid
and I am certain that
this angst and
this anxiety will
win today
again

because above all,
I am
helpless

When I started
college
I chose
to study business
thinking it was
what I wanted

I thought that
entrepreneurship
was a skill and
a task that
I was up
for

but if I could
go back
and choose
again
I would choose
English,

oh
sweet
English

I think English
Is nobler
Than that of
business
at least in
my
eyes

I found that business
was not authentic,
and more so
it was not right
with my soul

English allowed me
to think
and to observe the world
as I should
and comment about
what I saw
and what others
saw,
and what others
felt
English allowed me
to take note
of those talking
no matter how big
or small their voice was

it helped me learn that
this world is big
and I am small

English is patient,
and kind
while business was
anything but

business taught me
falsely,
that I am bigger
than I am

business is forceful,
business is savage,
and business is controlling
and business does not listen
to anyone
but to
those with
the loudest voice

I think it is
noble
to admire life
and all her
blemishes and faults
rather than to
take control
of
her

rather than snatching
her by her
arms
only to ravage
and **** in the hopes
of my own
good fortune
at the disregard
of others

The seeds within
me are waiting
patiently

waiting for their
nourishment
as each and every
day passes by

I water them
slowly,
drizzling each
kernel with the
waters of life

the word of
Yahweh
coming down
in a stout storm
within my heart
as the lightening
shatters my soul
and a deep downpour
pummels the seeds
with life

his word
yields great returns
as the seeds
blossom
bursting from my
soul with a bountiful
bulk of
Fruit

a plentiful harvest
erupting from my
heart,
some fruit to keep
for myself
and
some fruit to share with others

I sit at the beach
and I
notice
everyone's face is covered
with sunglasses except for
mine

mine are open

Behind each
pair of glasses
lies
what
cannot be covered

the eyes are the
pathway to the soul
and most keep  
their trails
hidden

afraid of tyrants
trespassing into their
hearts
and scared of
what
"other"
perils may sneak in
and storm their spirit

I keep my
eyes uncovered
knowing that
many will see me
as I am
and many will
label me,
and turn away from me

but I still,
keep my eyes open

open out of
my own stupidity,
and carelessness,
and apathy

but more so
out of hope,
and out of optimism
for the one who will
enter my trail
and not
turn back

just the thoughts
of someone hiking
through to
my soul and entering
my heart to stay forever
is what keeps my
eyes

open

I thank
every black
woman,
for being a
black woman
and staying true
to their soul
while knowing
that the goal
is to keep them
spiritually,
and mentally in
a black hole
where they
brittle and burn
down to
nothing more than
broken black coals
but in every sistah’s
triumph is ignited
deep down by a riot
that doubles as a lion
to nash and knaw through
each of the
trials
and slowly, but
surely
every inch
and pinch
forward turns
into many miles

As you
slice through
your struggles
with a heavenly
finesse and
a flourishing style,
I pray you
wear proudly
your curly haired
crowns
as dark skin
conquerers that
NO man
can defile

I love you

I had always had
love
and I had always ignored
it

just as a whale puts no
value in the sea
until it washes up on
the shore

I was blind to the love
I had
and only
saw my lover
once she was
long gone

I remember
when I was
a child
my grandmother
would take
me to pick
strawberries with her
in the
fields

I recall the hot sun
grabbing ahold of my
tan skin with
her rugged hands
while I begged
her to loosen
her
feverish grip
as I pranced through
the field with my
battered plastic
bucket

and
as I put the strawberries in
my bucket
slowly it would fill up
only for them to
fall out
through a hole
as I
walked away
one
by
one

sometimes
I think
my heart
is like the rough
bucket,
filled with small pieces of
love and
affection for myself
and for others
gently placed within

but as I take
more and more
steps into this world
each tiny spec
of love and
hope
and trust
just falls out
one by
one

it keeps
me up at
night
sometimes ya know?

just wondering
how much
more will escape from
my heart
until my
bucket is
empty

The night
time
strikes
true at
the right time,
as I stay inside
for the
evening

my window is open,
and my door is shut tight
when
primetime arrives
as the clock
hand
lands on the dime
and comfort lands
on my mind

what better feeling is there than,
a night spent inside,
with a warm cup
of coffee, and a
seeping book to go with it

as the coffee comes out sip,
by sip, the book pours uncontrollably
with the words flooding my mind and
eventually my room
as it
takes me by force and
drowns me, filling my
lungs, and my soul

my soul strengthens
and my lungs breathe
better as they are consumed
by the words pouring in

words from books,
and my own words are all around me
as I sink deeper and deeper
into the wash of imagination
and slowly start
to
dread the  morning to come
when I am pulled out of the
water and the
words evaporate
from my soul
and from my lungs
and the air feels bitter again.

Jesus always
Told me
That I need him,
But the devil always
told me
I
Was perfect

I can’t hear them
Both
So, I listen
To
One
At a time

Jesus speaks to my
Heart and soul,

But the devil roars in my
Mind.

I try to ignore him,
But it’s not always
Easy.

Sometimes they scream at each other,
And in the
Midst of
It all I
Get them
Confused.

I hear them both
Speak to me
And sometimes I get
Scared

Because sometimes
I don’t know
Which is
Which.

I’ve
Always been
Jealous
Of God.

How could I
Ever paint like
Him as
He strokes
Across the earth
Sculpting mountains
And waning rivers
with grace
And ease on his
Gentle brush.

How could I
Dance like him as
He twirls around the
Universe
Commanding
The planets around him,
as
They twist and turn in an
Endless waltz

How could I ever love?
Someone like him,
With his affection
Passing
Touching us all
One
By
one
as it sweeps
through like the
Autumn wind

How could I ever
Shine like
Him with
His beauty
Surfing down
sun rays
Piercing through
All darkness

How could I listen like him
With his
Ears ***** and
Ready for
Any
And every
whisper of his name.

I grew angry,
And decided to ask
Him
Lord? How do I become
An artist like you?
How do I create like you?

He grabbed me by
My hand
And pulled me
Close to him,
As he dipped
His
Head down and looked
At me
To say,
“my child, do not worry”.

You
Were never made
To be a maker,
You were made to be a marvel!

For you,
And all my
Other
Children
Are my greatest work
Of art.