In desperation I cling to thee
Thy warm winters grasp,
And in return you whisper free
To take another pass;

To spread and squeeze and shift once more,
To wallow in the red;
To lay thyself stretched on the floor,
To remember how to beg.

I follow footsteps deep and worn
With ears that strain for breath
And amongst the earth that I have torn
I hear the whisper, "Death."

Call me by name,
An epithet, a prayer
Bend my syllables to your symphony
And cool the beating of my heart with the rush of your vowels.
I am still with a single breath,
Only a moment of sighs will soothe my fires.
So keep my consonants on your lips and my heart upon yours,
Call me by my name.

"I am sorry, I'm sorry"
The words drip off my lips
A sticky sweet apology
For the ways that I exist

Today I exist,
A Fool
When often I am left
As my mouth has run away
To deal with the grief
Of what I stupidly say,
I espouse the only phrase
I can remember these days,
"I am sorry."

Today I exist,
A woman
Ashamed of my heavy voice
And the things I can not see
I am unable to conform
As I implore to be free
I whisper the single epithet
Acceptable for my regret
"I am sorry."

Today I exist,
White
Disgusted by my privelege
And bound by my skin
I will not equal the pain
That I see you are in
And so desperately I plead,
Keep me from complacency,
"I am sorry!"

For the things I rashly say
And the roles that I do not fit,
For the time that I don't take
And the injustices that I permit
Please,
Forgive me,
For today I exist.

The black names drip from our obituaries, sticky and thin.
You would think they would burn into our minds,
the brand of injustice against bound skin—
But a headstone is lost in unending lines.

It is horrifying.

Despicable.

How do we allow one man to **** another in cold blood?
Life spilled pours out in floods
Our men in blue drenched red
With the staggering numbers dead
And we sit back with “not all cops are the same”

Not every officer’s a killer but do you remember the names
Treyvon and Michael and Eric and Dontre and John and Ezell and Dante and Tanisha and Akai and poor little Tamir, who was still a kid,

Tell me what he did?

There is systematic opression and agression against a group skin defined
Where ****** is fine, it happens all the time, killers let off the line
Because of an oath that should bind
The oath they forget, the promise to protect, held up for all citizens except
The ones they choose to neglect

The badge not a shield but a riot ram
Against those that take a stand
And raise defiant hands
For the names lost in the clatter,

Black Lives Matter.

Those blind metaphors are repeated—

Ended and repeated and thrown in to the abyss
An ovation of an encore of a long known remix;
The rant of a child so long out of breath
Bleated from the mouths of those bubbling with death.

The skin crawls over like a well worn pen
Reverberating echoes thrown back and again;
The metaphor reflected in the mutilated mache
Deaf voices scream all there is to say—

Metaphors repeated and repeated.

My lips are still moving though I've run out of breath.
A plea, fervent and desperate.
An encore, it echoes again.
I cannot express how deeply I feel, yet
How ashamed I am of the oceans inside.
Let my skin boil and my eyes freeze,
I am ashamed.

I can find no beauty in my face;
There is no sun in my eyes
Nor morning song in my cheeks,
The swell of my lips is lacking.
There is no autumn with which I am comparable
Nor spring bloom that resembles the limp stalks I call my body.
Yet I do not resent the sparkling founts of summer or the youthful blushes of earth;
For though I am a frozen excess
My mind revels in gardens.

Empty words and empty lips
Glass thoughts and long sips,
There are some things I'll never know.

Some of us aren't meant to grow,
While others bloom like the sun
Their songs sweet when they've begun,
I am left in the shade.

This is the bed I've made,
With sharp drops and dead ends
With fiery stillness and no friends,
With insistent screaming and guilt
These are the tall walls I've built.

Glass words and empty thoughts,
The pale flowers not yet bought,
Some things I'll only see from above,
For some of us aren't meant to love.

If I knew what love was,
Perhaps I'd feel it for you.

If love is a rose
Then I am ever in bloom
If love is everlasting
Then mine knows no tombs.

If love is the ocean
Then my tides always rise
If love is a knot of unity,
Then mine are the tightest ties.

If love is a song
Then mine is an exceptional ballad
If love is a burst of color
Then mine is anything but pallid.

If love is the moon
Then mine is always full
If yet love be the sun
Then mine is never dull.

If love is an action
Then there is nothing I wouldn't do
And if I knew what love was,
Maybe I would feel it for you.

A detail
Of the dusty deep,
The dingy and desolate,
Dreary and dark.
It deliberates
Does Death's damp dread dress dawn yet?
Do the bells ding declaring destitution?
Does a dance a dash off determine a dads despair?
A damning design desires decision
But deficient development is doomed for destruction.
Do dripping days dally?
Do disposable distresses dominate?
Do We disappear in depthless diction?

I have been told that I am cold,
That there is no love for me
To give or recieve.
I have been told that I am fiery,
That no one could desire me
When I burn with my lips and my teeth.
Two halves that do not meet,
Two directions from two feet,
The things I say I regret,
The things I don't I regret
And either way I'm upset.  
There is no play, only stop and fast forward;
Both cheap imitations
From warring nations,
Both sides are unrecognizable
And neither is desirable.  
Why did I say that? Why did I say that? Why did I say that?
Why didn't I say anything? Why didn't I say anything?
Why did I not say anything?
My fast and slow
To and fro,
Seething or still.
I apologize for these lies,
For my insincerity
With such a deception
Of false perceptions,
Who could ever love -
Why did I say that?