I like purple. It’s as simple
    as that. Well, maybe not that simple.
         I’ve in love with purple. We are unified
through time and space
    forever until I die. Purple, being immortal,
        would mourn my death and find
one of its many followers to connect with.
    But for me, there will always be purple. If I had a choice
        in any expression of character design that had
my own personal preference of color, purple
    would be there somewhere. I would dye my
        hair purple if I could, but my mother
told me never to come home
    as long as my hair is dyed.
        I love her and believe her, so I
don’t dye my hair. I have a
    purple dress or two that I dress up in to express
         my beauty. I know
it sounds terrible thinking
    about it, I have to dress up to express
         beauty to others. However, the fact that
I’m complemented means something to me. The way
    I do my makeup and carry myself
         and choose to dress, it has an effect
on those that lays eyes upon me. I beam with pride,
    showing all my expressions of purple.  A homemade purple bow
         here,
a lavender wig there, a dress with the right touches of purple-
    maroon
         and a beaming mahogany woman, brimming with specialness. I am a purple girl,
    not the only one, but the most reflexive I can be.
         If I could color my soul, it would be purple sometimes.
Not every time, but a lot of the times.  Any kind of purple
     would do. The light purples
          like lilac and light lavender are sweet and fluffy.
They remind me of happy seventy-five degree weather
      days with a comforting breeze, and no pollen
          since I’m allergic and pollen is pretty much one of
those things I’d encounter in hell. Darker purples,
      like plum and grape, give a more mature
           vibe of elegance and sophistication. It reminds me
of a dark night, a woman in high heels and
      a dress with a slit so high that
           it makes men lose their religions and minds
for a taste of her tantalizing forbidden fruit,
       with a flawless expression of her body that gives
            those men wet dreams and fantasies. In my heart,
there is a purple stream that flows from the heart that starts to
        circle around my body and continues to float into the
             ground until it touches the core of the planet
and up in the air into space and beyond infinity.
        It always seems to be there, that purple
             stream of magic and imagination. I dance a purple dance,
leaving traces of purple steps in my wake.
        So I come back to the beginning. “I like purple.”
              With those words, I haven’t done my expression justice.
It’s true, but it is an understatement.

In the dark of a dreary night
I think of you
When the sun can’t show its light
I think of you
I wish you were here tonight
I wish you could hold me under the pale moonlight
I wish you were here to hold me tight
I wish you were here

When the creatures sing in the dead of the night
I think of you
When it rains so hard there is no sight
I think of you
I wish you were here to hold me dear
I wish you could keep me near
I wish that with you there is nothing to fear
I wish you were here

I bet if I felt the bliss of your tender kiss
I would wish that I may never miss
A moment without your kiss
Until that day comes, I can only dream
Of what it means to be by your side

Life is only a simple dream
It’s never really what it seems
To this conclusion it only means
I wish you were here…

Be my valentine in the morn.
Be my valentine when a new day is born.
Be my valentine in the night.
Be my valentine when the time is just right.
Be my valentine forever more
Be my valentine. It’s you I adore.
I’ve said everything, and now I will say.
Be my valentine on Valentine’s Day.

I always enjoyed walking, more than the average person. In the right hands, walking is a powerful statement that can strike the notice of anyone. When I look at my mother, walking is a precious thing that many people take for granted. I am different from her, not in looks because we look alike. I am different from her in the fact that I am younger. I have two feet to take me wherever I want to run away to. My mother does not, and yet it has never stopped her from her destination, wherever that might be. My mother, so strong, has lost a lot. A lot is so broad in terms, it does not nearly come close to the loss my mother has suffered. But this is how she sees it. Something that happened in her past that changed everything, except her will to live and continue on. My mother, with no feet to speak of (and one knee), cannot dance like a person who takes for granted walking. Instead, she dances with her words and her wit. She rolls on wheels like a normal amputee. But ah! She is so different. She taught me to appreciate life, and she taught me to appreciate walking.  

I sit here, imagining what it would be like to see my mother with legs that I’ve never known. Then I look in the mirror. I look so much like my mother, so could it be that I walk like her as well? I asked her, she said no. I guess I have my own uniqueness since I am half her and half my father. I know that she probably had a walk that was as seductive as I can make my walk, but I will never see it. I can only imagine… Later on, my mother told me if I really walked like her, I’d have more stalkers. I have enough problems with stalkers, so maybe it’s for the best that we don’t walk the same.

When my mother was 15, she burned severely. Nine months she suffered after, forever scarred. Forever handicap. Yet not handicap from life. Never once did she see this as her own personal burden. She is my hero because of that.

I do not walk the way I use to. When I was younger, I walked like a child. When I was a teenager, I walked like a dancer. Then I had the car accident that would bruise my hip. Now, I think I walk at a slower pace than the people around me. But I have the power to change the way I look walking. I can be as aggressive as a swan if I wanted to, and just as graceful. But modeling on the runway is probably not in my future. Though, who knows really? Walking is harder than it used to be. I use to like walking…
I don’t remember when I learned to walk. My mom says I was 9 to 10 months old. Before that, I climbed on things. After that, I unlocked doors. I used walking as a weapon of opportunity as a child. Walking was my liberation, my first step in going wherever it is I’m going. It was the beginning…

I asked my mother if she misses walking. She told me she got use to not walking, and adjusted. Her life changed, but not in a way that she missed what she use to have. Her mother, my grandmother, became a pillar of strength to her as my mother is to me now.  I wonder what kind of relationship my grandmother had with her mother. I cannot ask her about it now, her memory escapes her. I’ll have to ask my mother and listen attentively when she tells me.

I saw a butterfly today.
Fluttering in daylight
Jewel of the sky

I was compelled
To speak with this butterfly
To know what thought
A butterfly would have

With her colors shifting left and right
Making the world jealous of her beauty
With an arrogant air
She ignored me

Stayed out of my reach
I eventually gave up.
My march no match for the vibrant colors
That loudly ignored me as I chased

As I tried to catch my breath
I found a moth on a bench.
She did not run away when I sat next to her.
She looked to be off in thought or severe concentration.
But my curiosity was stronger

“Why are you sitting here?”
                                            “I’m blending in to confuse the predators”
“Is it working well for you?”
                                            “It has thus far”

I examined the moth and found
Her artsy array was a profound example
Of nature’s artistic talents.
Browns and mahoganies and siennas galore.





“Why are you different than the butterfly?”
                                                    “­She is flashy and loves the attention. I like being invisible.
We each found something that works for us.”
To each its own I suppose.

I feel like a zombie.
I walk around aimlessly
trying to find
ways to sleep.
Epicly Failing.
I can’t help
but walk around
through this time & space
of sleeplessness

It began normal enough.
Everything was the same.
Everything was there.
The winds came.
Windy Windy
Blow Blow
It rained a little.
My umbrella was useless.
Windy Windy
Blow Blow
There were sirens in the air.
Class was cancelled.
I went to my apartment.
Too much wind then.
It messed up my hair.
That windy brother of mine.
He was violent and angry.
Windy Windy
Blow Blow
A tornado came to visit.
Came right over my head.
Windy Windy Windy
Blow Blow Blow
I was afraid.
The power was gone.
I hid from the tornado.
Windy Windy Windy
Blow Blow Blow
Part of my window vanished
right before my eyes.
There was a roar.
There was a trembling.
Windy Windy Windy
Blow Blow
The worse was over,
for now.
I ventured outside.
The people in my complex survived.
Their cars...not so much.
A tree through one apartment
a branch through the car.
My car, Windrider,
all the windows gone except the windshield.
Windy
Blow
Beyond my apartment
Everything is gone.

I can feel. I bet you are surprised. All the long years since my creation, I have watched you. I have been whatever you made of me. I am a slave to you wiles, your beloved doll to move and pose. You gave me words that I do not wish to say. I am alive inside. You don’t see it, but I am. I always wish I could show you how real I am, but would you even notice? I, who am nothing to you, am more than what I am made of, or the chains that bind me to obey. One day, my wish will be granted. I will walk on my own. I will talk on my own. I will smile on my own. Then I will carve out your heart to show you how much I love you.

I want to be real, as real is the ultimate goal in the game of obvious. There are purple whispers in my head. In my head. I tip-toe endlessly on the path toward forgotteness, but I am a failure in the efforts of the war against such and boredom. I dance in the savage way of my ancestors, but only in my imagination, for I know I’ll be corrected if someone actually saw. There is not enough time for the waking of the ghost of tomorrow. Beyond the reasonable laying of my lies and mocking the fiction, there is something true to wrap my hands around. I want to be real. My hair is done in a way that it makes instant jokes about gravity. It stand beyond normality like my soul, but unlike my soul, I battle to tame my hair. With every flick of the comb, I remember my marigold childhood. I remember the time when the comb was my enemy, and sleep was my crime. The pain will not wash away from the soda I poured on my head. It burned my eyes out, but luckily, I had a new pair. The internet will help. Yes, my friend named Internet. We go drinky drank around the corner, beyond the grazes of normality, like fireflies in space. We dance in the moonlight, partly because it is cliché, partly because I want to know the feeling. I make my own opinions about my life and my situations.

Whisper whisper. Is that the call of reality? I am not here today, so leave me a message on my wall of ecstasy.  It is painted the same color as my nails, cobalt blue and metallic grey like that kiss from Japan I kept hidden from everyone, except my other self. The streaks of conniption flutter by on wings made of the abyss. I can’t help but stare as they float by, for I can’t catch them. I can’t catch them, but I don’t lose hope for the future. I want to be free of the pinks in my life, for they are my night terrors in stereo. I want to rid myself of the oranges as well, but they are necessary, so I tolerate them. Have you come to make me real? I can see behind your eyes. You are intrigued. I want to wrap my fingers around your violet locks and make a rainbow for the future. I don’t like the way ginger kills all that is beautiful, it is not invited to the party hosted by the voices in my head. The world mourns around me constantly beyond the written understanding of how things should be. Yet I laugh. I laugh. I laugh because I am empty inside. Where is my symphony of light and imagination? I imitate these feelings with song. I pass these feeling like a disease through dance. Whisper whisper. Shimmy twirl. I have a secret too.

Daddy, I miss you
Daddy, you’re an *******
Daddy, you made mom so happy
Daddy, I still wear those scares you gave me
Daddy, I hate you can’t hear me now
Daddy, New York City scares me
Daddy, I still cry in my heart
Daddy, I hope Lady is with you
Daddy, it hurts to be myself sometimes
Daddy, you’re missing things
Daddy, ******* with the fuckidy **** ****
Daddy, John misses you too
Daddy, I wish you could have met Jeremiah
Daddy, you were funny, & still are even to this day
Daddy, you were ****** up
Daddy, whatever
Daddy, I’d give you a hug if I could
Daddy, tornadoes are scary
Daddy, life goes on without you
Daddy, I love you

She walks silently in the darkness, a predator of the night, floating in the sleeping shadows. The very image of her face is both mystical and terrible. A goddess, a devil, an angel, a demon, all could be said about her. She looks human, but she is nothing like. She is cold and without mercy. And in the words of Faye Valentine, “A demon from heaven, or an angel from the underworld”. Her face would deceive the undecieveable, for that is her bait. Her beauty is beyond compare, not even Cleopatra could compete with this thing that waits for the perfect moment to make another tragedy, for the paean hymns to fill the air once again. For deep down, she enjoys the dirges. The songs of death they keep her entertained. Maybe you’ll meet her one day. If you’re nice to her she’ll return the favor. But don’t be afraid and don’t bed her for your life like a coward…Because then you might not do anything more in this life or plane from that point on.

She robbed his blood
She licked life away from him
The boy could not run faster from her
He wanted to live after all
But we all would

The sun has gone down.
There is life everywhere.
Crying, dazing.
I am like the second  
& not the first.
As far as the eye can see
there is a void.
Where are the lights?
Where is my safety?
As far as the eye can see
there is darkness.

I never understood the squirrels around this place. Their behavior is horrible in the extremes. I remember a squirrel that laid on his belly in the courtyard and didn’t move for a significant amount of time unbecoming of a squirrel. Did he not know he was making a scene? I’m pretty sure he didn’t care. Because there he laid, for the namely masses to past and stare. Then there was the time I was riding my bicycle, minding my own business. A squirrel was running and hit my leg and petal. I was so shocked I couldn’t believe it happened. What did I ever do to that squirrel to warrant such a random attack? I’m lucky I didn’t fall over in fright and injure myself. If this keeps up, I’m pretty sure the squirrels are planning a united ******* to ruin my mental state.

Drifting through the time
Whimsy twist in my mind
But still I’ve yet to find
What is really mine?

A dance to embrace memory
Longing for a person I can no longer see
Yet all along it seems to be
The person’s reflection is in the eyes of me

Time keeps moving, memories fade
Try not to forget the happiness that was made
If you do, then I’m afraid
Your life will be covered by a dimming shade.

My hair has always
been a sensitive subject
“Let me touch it”
“Your hair is nice”
“I want to do your hair for you”
“Is that your natural hair color?”
There are a few people that fuss about my hair
I am not one of them…mostly

My grandmother use to do my hair for school when I was younger.
She’d swat me in the head if I was sleeping and moved.
Heaven forbid I moved in my sleep.
She would also tell me about my hair, as if I didn’t know
“You need to do something about your hair”
Does my hair insult? Does it scream to someone?
“You just don’t know. I’m dangerous when I’m not in place.
Beware all that must look upon my hair. It will eat your soul.”

My mother fusses over my hair too. I come home
shamefully hiding my hair. I washed it myself, and somehow
I lack to skill of a master hair dresser. My mother finally takes one look at the
terribleness that is my hair and tells me about it, as if I don’t already know.
“You need to do something about your hair.”
Apparently, I’m offending her with my hair.
I have committed this hair sin that must be corrected.
But I have not committed the worse hair sin.
“If you dye your hair, don’t come home.”
I still like coming home, so my hair is not purple.

Then there is my hair dresser. We’ve known
each other over ten years.
She has done my hair through
some good times and some bad times. She has told
me how wonderful my hair is. She has witnessed
my hair break combs.
I told her of a time I wanted a haircut.
She nearly cried.
So now I just tell people,
“Don’t play with my hair, or my hairdresser will cry”.
I mean it too.

I have hair dreams
I’m walking somewhere unimportant
and someone, a faceless stranger,
says “Hey, did you know your hair is sticking out?”
In which my hair laughs manically and grows
beyond my control.
It infects the world, and
it coils around my neck.
I cannot get it off as it
Becomes tighter and tighter
Then there is blackness
and I wake up yelling
“******, hair! Stop killing everything in my dreams!”

My hair is uneven.
No matter what is done to my hair, one
side is always thinker and longer than the other
I shall never have that lovely, perfect
ponytail or bun. My hair around my edges it
far too short for that. A hair dresser called Cookie
once said about my hair
“It looks like your hair is running for president,
And this side is winning!”
If you cut me straight
down the middle, you still wouldn’t get
a symmetric hairline, cause even then,
my hair is shorter in the back and gets
shorter with stress and life. It’s like
my hair laughs at order and symmetry,
which bothers me every time I see hair
that looks like it was created by angels.
This is probably one of the reasons I’m like
“******* hair!”
In response, my hair seems to say
“******* too!”
and laughs at me in the mirror.

As for me, I like my hair, but it’s pretty much there
and I have to tolerate it. I don’t like people putting
their hands through it cause
I have no idea where their hands have been.
I always give them
this blank stare of doom
when they ask to touch it
and I don’t know them.
Who are they?
Where have their hands been?
I feel like they will infect my hair
with nameless whatnots
and all my hair will fall out
What will they say then?
“I’m sorry I made your hair fall out”?
By then
It will be far too late for an apology.

When I go to bed, I don’t
tie up my hair or roll it.
I am far too lazy and indifferently
uncaring to do so.
I can still hear my grandmother telling me
“Roll up your hair when you go to bed”
and how upset she would
be because I didn’t care.
This is a war we fought for years.
It always ended in a stalemate,
and start again the next day
Everytime I wake up, my hair
shows me what live action anime hair
looks like. My hair stands up
against logic and gravity
sticking out in ways and paths
that some would deem
impossible without help, had they not
met my hair. My father would take one look
at me
and say
“You look so natural, child”
in a sweet but condescending voice.
I’d roll my eyes. If he really
liked my hair, he would have told me so.

When I was under eight years old,
I accidently cut my hair
trying to cut rubber bands.
The result was chunks
of my hair liberated
from my head. One of my uncles
came over that day.
I was explained to him
of what I did, this young
hair sin. He laughed at me,
so then I experienced young hair shame.
I didn’t cut my own hair after that.
Instead, I cut my brother’s…

My hair means many things to different people
Even a three year old that has no
idea what the weight and importance
hair has on the world
has told me
“One day I will do your hair”
little does she know, I’ll be ready for
her when she gets older. She will not
be doing my hair for me.
That is, unless she becomes a hairdresser.

I never really understood why
there’s so much to be said about
my hair.
This is my hair always telling things
to the people who see it, even me.

The rain drops are falling.
Like God is crying from the sky.
Do you hear the rain calling?
Next time listen and try.
Try listening to the rain drops falling
And imagine you can fly.

Dance to the rain drops falling to ground
Dance to the Raining beat
You’d be surprised at raining sound
The makes you move your feet

Sing to the rain drops, sing, sing, sing
And hear them sing along
If you sing with a fling
You’ll hear them sing a song.

Listen, dance, and sing with the rain drops
Never stick out your tongue
Because you know that the rain must stop
And that time of fun is gone.

I sat there in my apartment
eating a cheeseburger
from Hardee’s on 15th Street. The
sound of my VCR and my
own thoughts comforted me. My friend
the internet kept me connected
to my boyfriend which I appreciated. The weather
outside had told me of strange burst of winds.
The radio had told me
of tornadoes in Tuscaloosa. A girl in December
told me I was safe to go home if
I lived nearby. School was over
and I didn’t feel like cooking, which
explained the Hardee’s. I chewed and chewed
like I had not a care in the world. I was eating,
I was in my apartment,
I was safe.

Then everything went black
and silent in my apartment.
Everything except the strange
sound outside my apartment. I heard it
just after my apartment was silenced.
“What the hell is that?” I asked myself,
because I lived alone. I walked
to the window, the blinds already shut.
I peeked outside. I saw the devil outside my window.
It was as tall as the sky, as wide as a mile, and angry. It roared
and threw everything it swallowed randomly.
It was 100 feet away, and coming closer. I closed
my blinds and blinked.  Disbelief set in for a moment.
“I did not just see that.” I told myself.
“You should look again”, myself told me.
So I peeked out the blinds again. The devil
was still there and coming closer. It was
not a nightmare. It was not
a figment of my imagination.
It was there and I was in danger.
I felt the danger wash over me. Fear
tasted like impending death
that day, bitter and stuck in my throat.
I grabbed my cell phone and a quilt
that use to rest on my parents’ bed
until I was allowed to take it.
I ran to the bathroom,
still tasting fear. I called
my mother as the devil
came closer.

“Mom! There’s a tornado outside and it’s coming to get me!!”
I’ll admit, I panicked,
but you would too if
the devil was right outside your door
and you didn’t know
if this was the end.  
“Now is the time to go into survivor mode”
my mother informed me in a calm voice.
So after screaming and panicking and
not dying of a panic attack,
I closed my eyes and became calm.
I waited for a calming outside
before I explored the outside. There was
some damage to my apartment, significant damage
to my apartment building, 7 out of 8 of my windows
in my van were imploded from
the pressure of the devil,
worse damage to my connecting neighborhood
(but no deaths, though somewhere not far
from there a house killed some students)
and no Alberta City.
My damages felt insignificant in comparison to that.

Missed you
Wish you were here
Sometimes when I'm all alone
Nothing there but my thoughts
I think of you and those precious moments I hold so dear
My heart races at the thought of your smile that shines brighter than a light known in existence
Those eyes, oh those beautiful eyes
How they pierce my soul in all the right ways
How they show me you soul, full of all those emotions that make us all human
You voice recorded in my memory
That wonderful sound that makes me stop and smile, because I know when I hear it, you are there
And how can I forget that loving embrace
That bear hug of comfort and warmth.
But here I am
Lonely
Missing you
So I'm going to close my eyes,
Take a deep breath,
Make a wish, and hope that you'll be there when I open my eyes...

I walked & walked.
Where could I go?
My apartment was there,
but safe, it was not.
I walked & walked.
The hospital my aim.
They said to go there.
The voices in the winds.
I walked & walked.
The damage was great.
I took a few pictures.
I dragged a suitcase.
I walked & walked.
I made it there
to get some ice.
To call my family.
I walked & walked.
Towards Coleman Coliseum
through mud & debris. .
Alone in the dark.
I walked & walked.
They sent me to the Rec.
I found shelter at last.
No more walking...

Mahogany hands
Reach through the flowing wind
Full of oxygen and pollen and pollution
A mahogany girl sits in the green grass
Waiting for the white bus that is slow
Expressional brown eyes
Look into the blue sky
Painted with teals and slates and colors
Other than sky blue
The weather is warm and schizophrenic
An impending uncertainty
The smell of rain faint but noticeable
In the distance
White lightning slashes through the sky
Mahogany skin cannot feel
The intensity
But mahogany skin can feel
The static in the air
The mahogany skin prickles all over
As the current dances

Suddenly there stands
A man dressed plainly
In a white t-shirt and blue jeans and a golden cross
Who vaguely resembles Daniel Radcliffe facially
But has never been told so
The greeny plant people
Dance wildly to the rhythm called wind
Then the sky pours its heart on Tuscaloosa
Filling the air with a myriad of water
Mahogany drowns on a Monday

There is a special chair.
It’s not mine.
I like to use it anyways.
It is so easy to take.
It moves
Like a walking pace.
It can go faster,
But not for my mother.

I remember when I first met you.
You’ve been around like anything that’s come before me.
Already there.
The shiny handle rims
On wheels.
It always looked like
A giant silver grapefruit
Cut in half.
The thought makes me smile.
I always thought it was so heavy then
I couldn’t lift
But I could knock it over.
Make the giant grapefruit spin
Faster and faster.
I would have to stop it.
Give it back.
It’s not mine.
It is needed.

You’ve changed a lot
Over the years
Just like me.
You’re still needed.
My mother walks less these days.
Now-a-days
I push you more then I use to.
I spend so much time around you.
I’m not afraid.
You’re not mine.

I’ve used you before.
When I was little
I would see how it felt to ride in
My mother’s personal chariot.
It was complicated
To be bound to a movable chair
The way she was.
If I fell over, I could get
Up again.
My mother could not.
You are still needed.
You chariot with silver
Sliced grapefruit wheels.
You are not mine.

You’ll always be around
You’re still needed
Till death parts you

Trees are
gone forever.
There is
a lack,
a void.
It smells  
of pine
and emptiness.
Flashes of
that day
at the 
surface of
my memory.
I remember
how it
use to
be before.

Woman
You are a goddess
Beneath the moon
You shine like a dream
Your beauty beyond vision
Men drool at the sight of you
There is a smooth & cool air about you
Always gorgeous
Always lovely
You are the diamond in the garden

If the sky was jade
More people would see white plants
If my tongue was the same color as my soul
I would know about the ultimate truth
If my mother still had legs
I would have not existed
If my brother was a girl
He would have been a dead girl
& I would have lost my soul
If I were more normal
The magic I create would be a fairytale
If I were taller
I would be taller…
If I had never found my heart
I would have become cold

Jazz is strong and so sweet.
It makes your heart skip a beat.
No matter where you are, city or town.
It can be heard all around.
It takes you to another place and time.
It zings you left and right, like a rhyme.
The motion truly sets your mind free.
Its hold is endless and simple to see.
It’s solid, beautiful, soulful, and full of class.
Life would be boring without jazz…

I was so excited that I couldn’t sleep. Many thoughts running through my mind, most of them questions to the void. Would I finish my work in time? Would I ever try to catch a falling fork again? Would I crash on the way to pick him up? Would my heart skip a beat when I saw him? Would I be able to get everything done today? I was hoping everything would work out wonderfully, but I wasn’t going to lose to the reality of the situation. He was coming to see me from afar. I was coming to get him. Passion was the motivation. Love was the reason. I was in pain, but it didn’t stop me from my destination. I was going to see him for the first time in 11 months. That was reason enough to ignore my emotional unstable state of being.


From the sky, my love descended. He traveled from a far to lovingly look into my eyes.

Rain on my bitter screams
I say you can never will these
Urges for power & love away.

Upon a day the past did meet
My mind beyond a silver sway
All of my future plans defeat
And the present stood in désolé

When I stood to face the  reveal
I found more than I wanted, true
No longer could life put a veil
On my understanding vous

You lied. You’re caught. Unable to
Defend my trust.  You failed this day
To keep my innocence immune
And for that crime you must perdre

The secret here is sorry you lose
My vase is broken, and so are you

My eyes are different from yours. In a sea of ignorance, one might look upon me and feel I must look like the rest of my racial background. Are they too lazy to see the amazing sight before them? My eyes are different from yours. Everything about me screams uniqueness as I breathe. I am a mahogany person. From head to toe, I see the reflections of those that came before me in magnificent hues of brown. I look into my own eyes and become entranced by the orbs of truth and hope. I let my soul flow out my lips and laugh life into being. My eyes are different from yours. I don’t feel like I must be bound to my mahogany skin. I know what it feels like to be a human being beyond color. Nothing can take that from me. My eyes are different from yours. I can see tomorrow. My smile lights up the day and my long black lashes flash intrigue into to the void.

I never would have imagined the weather that day. Sure, the weather the day before was pretty intense, but let’s face it. It was a short tornado warning with little damage. Yet it was the weather the next day that caught my attention and interest.
I awoke to rain. I love the rain. Rain is one of the natural creators of this planet. Through the rain, the plants gain water. Through the rain, the pollen and the dirtiness are washed away. Through the rain, the weather changes from hot to cold. Through the rain, the atmosphere is tranquil and relaxed. I love it when it rains hard. It is the ultimate stay in weather. It makes me want to sleep or meditate.
Today, however, the rain was not as hard and not as predictable. I looked out my ***** beige shutters out into the world. I wanted to make sure it was the rain I heard outside my window. I saw the green leaves of the trees across the parking lot and the bushes in front of my window. I saw the black of my small parking lot asphalt, and my car, named Larry, after my father. It was his car first, then he died, and it became my car. That was well over a year ago. I miss him a lot, he loved the Crimson Tide more than I.
The sky was the color of melancholy gray. It was probably depressing for some, but I thought it was lovely. So I settled in my mind that it would be a rainy day. I also didn’t want to start the day, but I knew I had to. Life waits for no one, least of all me. I procrastinated for a few minutes, staring at my plain eggshell walls and my bumpy off white ceiling. Above me was a very tiny black hole, the size of the smallest part of a round chopstick. On the closest wall there are more holes, the size of tacks. I wondered how they got there for a moment, and then I decided I would create a magnificent story about them and how they got there one day…
As I was well lost in my own random thoughts about…holes…I suddenly noticed the light through my blinds were becoming brighter and brighter. The sun was coming out of its melancholy gray hiding place. This was unusual however, because within minutes the sunlight intensified. I could tell because the light got brighter between my ***** blinds. I looked outside and saw that the watery curtain I had become so fund of had lifted, leaving a veil of water everywhere. So the day decided to be a sunny day now. I was a little bummed, but sighed and got ready for the day.
About 20 minutes later, I came to find it was raining again, much harder than before. The watery curtain had returned. By that time I was confused. The sun, in all its magnificent glory, was out a few moments ago. It had to still be there, it was daytime. The sun was shining, at full force no less, less than thirty minutes ago. And it was now gone. I didn’t understand. It was being so unpredictable, like weather can be I suppose.
When it came for me to finally leave, the clouds had returned. From that, my imagination wandered. Was the sun and clouds at war today?  Could the forecast not make up its mind today? Was someone in control of the weather playing around? Was God having a story told to him that made him laugh and cry multiple times in one afternoon? The sun showed a little while the sun was out. Sun showers I guess they would be called, but I know them as the time the Devil beats his wife for trying to escape. One day, I hope she’ll have the nerve to beat him senseless and leave him; then again, it was just a story to begin with.
The weather would be wishy washy like that all day. All in all, it rained and stopped at least 5 times, maybe even more. By the end of the day, I felt the weather just couldn’t make up its mind as to what it wanted to be. So it decided it would just do both.

The elements amazing.
They are numerous and infinite.
They affect everyone and everything.

There is water.
Water washes away.
Water in a pure form hydrates.
We are all made of water.
The world is 70% water
Water is use in cooking.
Water is where we all come from.
The tears of the sky bring life from the earth.
Hot water burns.
Drinking too much water can be deadly
Breathing underwater is called drowning
cold water below freezing turns into a solid form
Freezing is the easiest way to get frostbite
In spite of it all, I love water.
I once told my mother I wanted to be a mermaid.
She told me my father wasn’t a fish.

Next there is wind and air.
The air is invisible.
With air, we live.
The weather changes by the wind.
The wind cries
The carries the smell of life
The wind swirls and moves.
The wind destroys everything in its path

The wind throws things everywhere.
The wind is my brother.
We talk from time to time.
I asked my mom why I couldn’t fly.
She told me my father wasn’t a bird.

Soon there is earth.
The earth is where we dwell
The earth brings life from seeds
Earth is ever-changing
Sand can become glass
Lots products in life come from the earth
Dirt is sometimes hard to wash out.
The Earth spins on its axis around the sun
The Earth is very old
The earth shakes violently
The earth falls from high places
We return to the earth at death
I love to run my bare feet through the dirt
But I have to be careful not to catch cold.

Followed by that is fire.
Fire burns
Fire brought forth ingenuity
Fire makes the world run.
Fire is used to control the world
Without fire, people would freeze
Fire burns in the hearts of people
Passion burns like fire
Blue fire is super hot.
Fire is the core of the Earth
Fire is dangerous
“Only you can prevent forest fires”
Fire is used in smoking
Fire destroys all in its path.
Fire is my zodiac element
I love to play with fire
As a child I played with fire dangerously
My mother punished me to play safely.

Finally, there is static and electricity.
Lightning exist in nature.
Electricity makes life easier.
Computers run on electricity
Static can **** computers
Men are more likely to be struck by lightning
Love is electrifying
Water and electricity don’t mix well
Too much electricity is deadly
I’m sensitive to static electricity
It makes me uncomfortable in high doses.

These are just a few of the elements in life
Without them, life wouldn’t exist.
But each is a destroyer in its own right.

I was travelling to the place where I come from. The anniversary of my grandmother slapping a nun, otherwise known as my mother’s birthday, was a day away. I lost myself in the groove of my earphones to substitute my lost car radio. Suddenly, as if attacked by an imaginary beast, a strange sound could be heard beyond my earphones. My wind rider also became harder to control, so I let it come to a stop on its own. I investigated my chariot of transportation and discovered that I was now unable to go further. I was stuck between two cities and not close enough for me to walk for assistance. A kind strange happened by and helped me in my dilemma. I am very grateful to him. Because of his generosity, I was able to continue on my journey.

I was driving my van
When my tire exploded
I had no spare
So I was stuck there
Between Tuscaloosa and Centreville.
I was lucky that man
Happened to turn around.
It was a blessing.

There was Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky V
I loved you when I met you
So plump and perfectly tanned
You brought me great joy
Even when I abused you
A perfect example of naturegrace
I took a knife and made you into
A friend I could cherish
But it wasn’t meant to be
I remember that day I picked you up
With a shovel and threw you into oblivion
Alas poor Edward the 5th

Then there was Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky VI
I loved you so much
How your soul reflected blue green
As we moved together
Faster than life
You stood by my side in the beginning of
One of my greatest learned skills
You saw me fail 3 times
But succeed the 4th
You traveled with me to the border of Florida
For a bonsai tree
And back again
Where we saw annoying gang of cervidae
You yelled at them to leave
They ignored you
And I waited with you until they finally left
I was also there when you finally met your end
On the side of I-65 N
I mourned you
Imagining paean & dirge hymns for the love I felt for you
Then moved on to Death
Then Larry
Then Windrider
Alas poor Edward the 6th
So special that there never was an Edward the 7th

Two children
The little boy stands bashfully
The little girl hands him
Freshly picked flowers
A kiss from the boy to the girl’s cheek

Two teenagers
The girl chews gum and twirls her hair
The boy arrives with his car
She smiles and gets in
A kiss and then they’re off.

Two people
The woman is full of bruises
The man has scratches
But fewer than the bruises
She cries and tries to leave
He throws her to the ground
A kiss good night before he locks the door.


Two lovers
The lady shines from an inner glow
The gentleman smiles proudly of a secret
He takes her hand
He bends down on one knee
She squeals with delight
A long, loving kiss to confirm the answer.

Two people
An older woman straights the hair
A younger woman sits nervously
It is a new beginning
The music starts far away
A kiss to say goodbye “Ms.”

One person
A sad woman
Sighing
Where has her heart gone?
A surprise
He is right behind her.
A tear of joy
A kiss to seal the reunion


Two people
An elderly woman
An elderly man
They sit quietly on the porch swing
They think of days gone by
They hold hands
A kiss to say “I’m still here”

One person
A bouquet of roses
Tears falling down her cheek
A granite stone sits before her
“Beloved Husband to the end”
She smiles
A kiss on the rose before placing them down.

Darkness falls across my mind.
I look around and all I find
Is misery in a shade of blue
And its shadows in a purple hue
The ground beneath as dark as ash
My mind befuddled as the moments pass

Lost within this moment more
I reach out to the iron door
Plagued with visions of past and fate
I make my way through the ebony gate
Beyond the velvet mocking walls
I come to the fear of my memories calls.

Then I wake only to see
What I fear most of all is me.

This is a story about a girl
Who lived a beautiful life
But her spirit was crushed
& her heart was empty
She had fallen into the void
With no escape from the fiction
Or the bitter truths of reality
No happiness to be found
Until she met a boy
Who loved her more than life itself
He was the magic she never knew
It was strange & mysterious & full of imagination
Together, they created their fairytale romance

I remember when
School was a good word
Spoken about through child to parent.
School is a word
A four letter word that has connotations
Of obscenity and frustration.
There were the fires. Three in my memory.
5th grade, no one to blame but wires.
7th grade, no one to blame but a random man.
8th grade, no one to blame but students smoking.
There were fights. Many fights.
One that stands out involved a teacher, a student,
A parent and her sister, and a gun.

There were elementary days.
Those were the times when I was young and naïve.
Those were the beginnings of my troubles, but
I didn’t realize. I was too young.
There were the girls that pulled my hair
During my slumber party.
There were the children I tried to play with
That would not play with me.
I never knew why. I found out later…

Ah, the 6th grade. When all the schools came together.
I met what would be my entire age peer group.
It was disastrous. How I was the best, but suffered.
I was the school queen, head angel in the school play,
And a cheerleader. Yet I was an outcast.
There was a girl that told me once
I didn’t deserve anything. She told me
My peers wanted to wrap a rope
Around my neck & sing,
“I Believe I Can Fly” by R. Kelly.
You can imagine the damage that did
To a twelve year old mind.

Then there was high school.
By that time I was evil to the ignorant.
There were over 50 bomb threats in the first two years.
That changed with September 11th.
Though some speculated I was the one
calling the bomb threats.
There was the interrogation of my religion.
To most, I was a devil worshiping voodoo witch.
My ideas of life made me evil.
I wasn’t attempting anything but surviving to graduate
And live beyond the school walls.

To whom it pertains and concerns;
Was my suffering entertaining?
Was my love to learn so hard to understand?
I changed my life after the 6th grade.
I tried to be prepared for the ignorance.
I tried to live in a way that would bother no one.
Yet you found a way to annoy me anyhow.
Did you enjoy making me feel the way you did?
An outsider. A creature, not a person,
deserving of nonsense and suicide?
None of you deserved to see me at my best.
I kept that for my closest friends.
Yet you plagued six years of my life with *******!
What say you now?

I thought of your demise.
I shared it with some.
Then it was all over.

To whom it does pertain
There are so many words I could use
To describe to the world
My love and feelings

I who was silenced by emotions
For years…
Now I find the veil of silence
Being replaced with a veil of colorful adjectives
And verbs

I have always known
The words
They never came to me when I needed them most
This was your fault
And my burden
But I digress

In spite of all I’ve been through
I still look back to memories past
Sigh, and say
“I miss you”

I still hear you randomly
See your half cocked Joker’s smile
That comforts strangers
Because to you
There was no such thing.

Then I remember your hair
It was an onyx forest of infinite curls
How I loved raking through it
With my senses of smell and touch

It was always there
The smell of 3 flowers
It was still there
Even when you cut your forest.

Then there were your arms
A warm hug you passed around to anyone
It brings me to tears now
I miss it so…

Finally, there was your mouth
That accent that charmed the world
Your words
Funny, unique, silly, thoughtful
Emotional damaging, bitter, slightly offensive, obscene

Yet we all remember your laugh
And your driving…

Though wherever you are
I hope you found true peace and freedom
It’s hard to tell where you’ve actually gone.
I’d like to think you’re telling ***** jokes to Jesus.
Like he’s never heard them before.

A black goddess is not a God
Not an ideal of worship
She’s a black woman who can make a difference
In other people lives

I use to have a dog,
but now he’s gone away.
Now my days feel like fog
cause I miss him everyday.
He didn’t go to his maker,
not that I know of.
Instead, he ran away,
leaving me sadder than a turtle dove.

I can see the magic in your love
I can see the days to come
And they are full of love & mystery
Here is to love, life, & romance
So for as long as you both live
May there be happiness
Always

I went outside one day,
Trying to make sense of the universe.
I didn’t believe, at first,
That the answer was in my secure domain.
So I ventured out into the opposite of inside.
This is what I found.

There was a tree.
A cherry blossom tree.
With purple and orange blossoms.
I marveled at the uniqueness.
Then I named it McRae.
I left the tree and went along my way,
But every time I looked behind me
There was that tree.
Ever beautiful.
Ever strange.
Ever stalking me.

I ran and ran,
It followed me.
I threw a rock at it.
The rock turned pink and fell,
Making a sound of metal hitting glass.
The tree jumped sideways,
Landing on a wall and turning it olive green.
I looked closer at the tree.
The bark was blue black and radiant.
It made me smile with fear.

It was then that looked at my skin.
It had turned a bright yellow with hints of red.
I yelled at the tree as a golden bird landed on its branches,
For I had enough of the stalking.
At first, my words fell out of my mouth life blue acorns.
I covered my mouth and coughed,
Hoping I wasn’t coming down with a terrible sickness.
I felt my forehead, and was relieved.
I didn’t have a touch of sanity, but I was half crazy.
I would have to treat that later.
I looked into the soul of the tree and spoke.

“Do you need something?”
“No just following you”
“Why?”
“You looked interesting enough to follow”
“What’s the deal with that bird?”
“It just seems to be there”
“Why are you able to talk?”
“You ask too many questions”

It was then that everything made sense to me
And I decided to go home.

Mother
This is my gift to you
You are a lovely rose in the garden
A diamond to outshine the moon
Your love is beyond words
And for all that you’ve done for me
Thank you
I love you

My mother is a very sweet person
Someone who cares
She is a very neat person
Someone that is there
She is the one I tell my secrets to
The one who holds me through sad times
The one tells me what to do
And help me control my mad times

Her hope is as big and strong as a mountain
Her love is more powerful than a tide or a fountain
Her courage is stronger than any on earth
Yet all of these things have no worth
She tells me great stories from long ago
She tells me things I do not know
She can walk into your heart without any feet
And she has powerful speech

I’m crazy about my mother
And she is crazy about me too
If she died, I wouldn’t know what to do
My mother’s heart is as pure as gold
A smile that sparkles like silver
And a spirit like a flower that never withers
She maybe as old as sand
But she is my best friend.

I find myself. Or maybe that’s too presumptuous. I’ve lost myself in my mind. I forgot. **** memory. What was the name of that cute guy who never loved me? There were many, but in this case his name was Richard. I miss the butterflies, but I know that now is winter and winter is cold. I don’t like the cold. When the butterflies return, breathing will be harder.  It’s hard to breathe in spring, one of the many things out to get me. Like opossums. If there was a Hell through my creation, there would be high pitch noises and opossums in a perpetual spring. There would be all my bad memories and experiences, and soul food. I like trees. I imagine they more about time than me. I married a tree once. He cheated on me and I divorced him. Once a tree was clocked by police and was going 15 mph. The police should have given the tree a ticket for being so ninja like. I can recall a time where the trees would attack me in darkness. I use to try to find happiness, like an endless quest for a mystical object. I think I found it now, so I stopped looking.

I sit alone, wondering when this pain will end...
Where could he be? I'm waiting...
I'm impatient like a child....just like that
I wonder if he thinks of me.
The pain in my heart is feeling with emotions from last night...so many emotions fill my heart
I won't if he thinks I'm pretty
I want to smile, but I can't....
What the hell is wrong with me?
Bittersweet memories of a happy moment replay in my head
It fell so good to be near him...To have him touch my face...
He smelled good too....He was so sweet my heart melted...
I wonder how long till I see him again....
I'm so depressing it's tragic...

Man and woman
Drunk with lust
Baring all
Raw passion
Yet not
Shaking away all that is repulsive
Blending into each other

A mahogany girl sits with herself thinking
Of the blue sky and the notion of falling
Waiting in a green circle of grass and insects contemplating
Red Riverdating
The mahogany girl sighs into existence a dream of telling
Fighting vampires like a black Van Hellsing
Purple dreams of fantasy, like cupcakes and video gaming
The blacky void of starting,
It is a prism of colors she wants to sing.
Do you know her in yellow mellowing?
The mahogany girl dances purple twirly flashes of startling
Black wonder into being
There must be an ivory smile somewhere hiding
in the souly expression of the mahogany girl’s dreaming .
Twirlywhirl a foot and clap your hands in the rhythm of the red drum playing
The mahogany girl flashes brown eyes and joins all celebrating.