Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Tanisha Jackland Feb 2020
The man with the fake tan
is in the house painted
arrogant white
How he fits well sitted
Says he is
the new messiah
Follow him
So into oblivion we go
but the road is out
and we are left in the cold
with no shoes  
no bodies clothed
While the fake tan man
ignores the sweltering
heat about him
pays his buddies voiceless
like all good billionaires do
bad news for all of us
from the man with
the basketball skin
I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.

For tho’ I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.
Tanisha Jackland Feb 2020
I get so lost from you

daydreaming of revenge

on wolves who'd prey

on you

or how the

syrup from your lips

keeps me so drunk

I get enravelled

in the flesh

that I lose some of you

each time I bring the glory

to myself

So I try to daydream of roses

they are safe it's wise to say

for they will not lead

me away from you

towards the brimstone

and decay
Tanisha Jackland Jan 2020
I am making my way

thru humanity for the last time

seeing shadow exists before me

knowing I hold the truth within

what they don't see is what they assume

all the petty small minds say

there is no heart of gold

to be found in black bodies

that we lynch and burn

out of Africa, they have claimed

our skin the radients of mocha

night screams sin

and they will continue to say,

we are better than them



I am better than no one but my self

to be sure this heart is genuine

coming from a long

line of fine peculiar folks

souls as vast as a mountain range

you could fall deep into the

crevice of their never

ending love for everything

who would even wounded

do anything opposed to oppression

untamed roaming wild and free
Tanisha Jackland Dec 2019
A child moves

paint without effort

over the white abyss

channeling Van Gogh

or Matisse

the nerve of these

little ones to dare tap

into the celestial void

of creation

the audacity of a child

to till onto their paper

random flora

like a gardener of a new alchemy.
"All children are artists.  The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up." Picasso
Tanisha Jackland Nov 2019
It's a balancing act.
We are kidding ourselves
if we don't accept it
and respect it.

America’s shadow
is projected
all over the Globe
and its not healthy
it is a sick child
waiting to be freed

but we repressed it
For far too long that now it
Is running the world

But not without
Demonizing it first
For it is
our deeper selves
out of balance
and a hero to most

Means freedom
For us to gather
as a collective
to heal ourselves
and to remain true

There must be light
For those who seek the
warm wisdom of the dawn

And there must be dark
For those who seek
to rest and heal
from its cool
effervescent shade

the balance of the
world will be shown
with love and simple
kindness

It all depends on you
Tanisha Jackland Nov 2019
I am like nobody

but you can't say

things like that

and come off humble

or modest as such

No I am not like you

before sunrise

i seek out mirrors

that burn with my reflection

I free my self every morn

before sunrise

deleting the gradients

between you and me

you see

I was born a super hero

from a land far far away

and I have not forgotten

I am a supreme badass
Next page