Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Love is like taxis
They're everywhere when you don't need it
But nowhere to be found when you do
Some clichty folks
don't know the facts,
posin' and preenin'
and puttin' on acts,
stretchin' their backs.

They move into condos
up over the ranks,
pawn their souls
to the local banks.
Buying big cars
they can't afford,
ridin' around town
actin' bored.

If they want to learn how to live life right
they ought to study me on Saturday night.

My job at the plant
ain't the biggest bet,
but I pay my bills
and stay out of debt.
I get my hair done
for my own self's sake,
so I don't have to pick
and I don't have to rake.

Take the church money out
and head cross town
to my friend girl's house
where we plan our round.
We meet our men and go to a joint
where the music is blue
and to the point.

Folks write about me.
They just can't see
how I work all week
at the factory.
Then get spruced up
and laugh and dance
And turn away from worry
with sassy glance.

They accuse me of livin'
from day to day,
but who are they kiddin'?
So are they.

My life ain't heaven
but it sure ain't hell.
I'm not on top
but I call it swell
if I'm able to work
and get paid right
and have the luck to be Black
on a Saturday night.
Sometimes the Moon is just
the Moon
Stars simply stars
They're just reliable objects
They just are
And birds are just birds
They're pretty
They fly
Often words are just words
They're witty
They lie
And colors are just granted
Sort of like you and I
Until each pretty petal
just withers and dies
I glide through green lights,

obliterating double lines,

hoping i can still see the great divine,

dishonored by three bottles of red wine.

but i still remember crying at the station,

calling you from my driver's side,

bruised, cut and unkind,

begging you to stay in my life.
is not a drug,

but a dream kept afar,

i can't hold it with hands,

but i love when it's near.
our lips will never meet
nor our fingers intertwine
and so bless my dreams
for indulging what's not mine
wishing every day was a weekend,

dotting my life in that eternal night,

wanting sleep when my soul is full,

emptied when the morning's old.
i reappear from my illness,

with small hope and no home,

just four walls and a bed of my own,

motherless, with an inch left of soul.

my eyes are recovering gray,

miles away from the dark,

where i stood almost all of my life,

only time could replace this heart.

i am grateful for the days i can count,

forgive me for the ones that i can't,

but still, if you stood next to me,

i would still reach for your hand.
it's official
it has been
a month

a whole,
wild month
but still a month

a month of
countless words
and
hundreds of views

though the question is
what is the point of this?
i've been here a month
and i'm still not sure

do i write here
just so
i have an outlet?
to get these feelings out?

am i here
to seek acceptance
to find people who feel like me
or who appreciate my thoughts?

am i just here
to feel wanted and understood
to hear praise and
watch my views climb?

is this a way for me
to say things to people
that i don't have the courage to say
in real life?

or am i here to help
diffuse my anger
and dull the pointed edges
of my soul
and try to put together
the shattered parts of me
by accepting them myself?
Next page