we woke up from our dream.
The playground was empty, the swings barely touched by toddlers.

We wanted too be like mommy when mommy is on drugs and daddy can't be found.

It's so hard trying to remember the last time you preferred soda over ***** because soda doesn't make you forget the pain as well.

Can you believe we really did sit on those swings, wanted to watch reruns and drink soda?

Even wanted to be like our parents for a time?

It may look nice, cheerful, and happy as can be but its cold out here in the world and sometimes I'm happy I woke up.

I know that its not unicorns and sugar-pops all around but, there are times I wish I was oblivious to my indigenous home.

Friend we woke up a long time ago but you handled it differently than I.
So differently that you were dreaming again just a new dream.

I only wonder when you will wake up this time.

Notice the way the sun rises over the mountain before dancing into the sky.
The way the moo slowly moves across sky making way for a new day.
The way the stars stand still in one spot burning brightly and sometimes shooting across the night sky giving us a glimpse of their beauty.
Try to find the similarities besides the astronomy of it all.
They are all beautiful,
all things we see daily but don't truly appreciate them,
  we never see the pure and rare clarity in theses things until we hit the rock at the bottom.
Everyone takes chemistry,
physiology,
and geometry but take a class in life for once.
Learn why we love.
Why the stars shot for us to make wish upon,
  why the sun and moon dance around the earth like the flames of a fire.
Why we laugh,
why we sing.
Please learn it all.
Feed the youthful minds some knowledge of the things that matter,
rather than the things that don't

I am that girl who, loves the smell of gasoline, hate hypocrites,  and sometimes talk to much Even though I think I'm not talking enough but then someone tells me to slow down  or shut up and now I just realized I'm talking to much.
I am that girl who, is constantly looking over my shoulder looking for those who attack me on the daily.
I sit in my  closet and cry until  I feel my body falling to pieces, wretched from my lips are the cries of despair and pain that I  hold back.
However I am not this girl:
The girl who is okay with the bullying,
The girl who is okay with the abuse,
The girl who is okay with the ****,
The girl who is okay with not being allowed to feel comfortable in her own sexuality,
The girl who okay with not having a voice.
I am not that girl.
Never was, never will be,
I am not okay with these things.
Please do not treat me with kid gloves for yes I am as fragile as a china doll and if you drop me I might break but I will look pretty and smile through the tears.
Sometimes I feel like I haven't Breathed.
Like its been a decade since I last went to sleep.
So no I'm not all smiles, I'm not straight, and I'm definitely not okay but that is me.
That's How I complicatedly describe me.
And maybe its the end of me.
The me behind the mask, behind the band-aids, holding together the pieces.

She has a secret all locked inside but everyone thinks she's got nothing to hide.

Up in that room locked away are the secrets she keeps every night and day.

She cried in secret so no one would know the pain and the shame she felt on the daily,

trippin'

and trying to see herself clearly,

trapped is her soul in the confines of her mind.

Her heart is busted, broken its almost a crime.

She wants to tell you how she feels but instead keeps it hidden inside for fear of rejection.

The pain is intense creeping up and down.

She has not a friend in the world except her cold metal friend,

who listens to the pain and releases her for a moment in time but after that the pain is worse then before.

They say its a

"no strings attached"

relationship  but she always misses her cold metal friend.

She wants the feeling to last forever so she takes a leap and flies.

The girl is no more, gone with her secrets and forever misunderstood,

was the smile she wore with tears in  her eyes.

The urge has come back to give into the attack
But if you do then you will die
or be fighting to stay alive.
I don't want to giv in and let my feelings win,
but if I go back, then it wins, my heart and soul,
are going to be dead.
My light has burned out and the fire left me with some scars;
Broken and torn stuck behind a prisoners doors.
But I am innocent of all crime except unto myself guilt comsumes me.
Because If I go back then my heart stos beating.
The blood overflows, my viens are cut, ripped, **** IT I MESSED UP!
So now I cry as I get burned alive,
and by the crimson river on my arm,
it flows until it dies.
Until me, myself, and I die.

Momma said to never cry over spilt milk and broken cookies but, she never said anything about a broken heart.
Its just as hard to pick up the tiny shatters and unlike crumbs they are not carpet cleanable, they stay, stain, and burn a hole through the very floor of your soul.
I was told when I was young that nobody can hear the pop of a breaking heart-string so you have to make sure it is never hurt;
But I'm sorry mommy its all my fault! I left it out and exposed and just when I thought it was safe it wasn't!
Not just one string it was all,
I broke my love instrument and now I don't think I can love only fall.
At least not without a new heart for mine is not repairable, no longer even a damaged good but more like a scenario,
of what could have been before everything that was solid ground started quaking, and rearranging itself to fit the profile of that of a being with no other outcome except lonely defeat,
and even though we've been running the long mile,
hope just seems to be the horizon beyond our reach.

Kiss me, **** me, make me, want to die.
Burn a hole, right through my insides.
Pinch me. Punch me. watch me as I bleed.
Take my heart and rip it from my spleen.

Black for all those darker thoughts clouding my mind.
I'm feeling a bit blue,  everyday for a few hours.
Red is all I see, raging fire behind my eyes.
Getting out of bed is a chore, food never fills me, and sleep is only an 8 hour long nightmare.
I have lost all the friends I never had and the ones I do don't understand me.
I am a story about oblivion, nothing left but an empty shell to remember me by.
When people ask me where have I been I say that I died and they laugh as if I am joking but I'm not!

Dance in the flowers of springtime like a flower without petals.

I have never heard of such.

Never heard of a flower without petals, a lion without a roar, a tree without bark.

These things are simply unheard of like sacred souls.

They never see these things or the stitches on your heart holding you together, never heard of a heart that doesn't love.

Never heard of a tiger without stripes and the pride of them , for what would we know if not these things?

What about Maya Angelou who told us of the caged bird that sings or Langston Hughes who taught us to take our dreams, spread our wings and fly with them?

A flame without heat is not so, it is ignited like the rage flowing through our veins when yet another African American boy is faced down,
on the ground,
unarmed,
with blood of his own flowing out of him.

Never heard of is it?

Just like the streets that would scream if they could speak, so would Andy Lopez if wasn't already six feet under just for being 13.

These are the things that are not unheard of, we just never hear them.

I think maybe it is time these things be recognized and not cast aside, so that maybe their is hope for a bright future.

That we might never have to see a world where flowers have no petals and lions no roar.

But finally at peace with no war.
Just love.

Give me a reason to love the way you fist connects with my jaw and your boot to my shins.
Give me a reason to enjoy the taste of blood pooling in my mouth.
Give me a reason to smile at the bruises on my sides and my thighs.
Because I can't  seen to find a **** good thing about the hate you spew out of your lips and express in your fist,
but tell me that you love me and all the "baby I'm sorry's.
Theres a cycle of pain that never ends,
a line between love and hate but you don't know the difference.
Now you want me to find pleasure in the bullet i've bitten but there is no more me.
No more me to say another **** "baby I'm sorry".

Sunset turn the sky a light crimson,
the same color of my wrist and thighs.
They sing the song about the blades as the brush and the wrist as the canvas but they forgot to mention the mind.
Its the paint  spreading the pain all around,
coloring our thoughts a deep shade of blue.
What about the heart?
It being the orchestrator of it all.
Giving you a place to store every creation and every cry...

if these are the tools we use to create our destructive pieces then who is the painter?
You.
The ones who take priority in making my painting a disaster.

I finally turned red with rage,
green with envy,
and blue with depression.
For,
why can't I just turn happy?
Simply fill me with the purple smile of a dancing clown.
Let me not frown,
I just want to smile.
Can you make me look happy?
color me a new shade of pink,
rosy cheeks that will never be mine.
Only the hollow empty black pits disguising themselves as big, brown, wide, eyes.

Dread brought out from my forest of feelings.
I order myself around, head down, don't show your blush, your face is flushed, they're gone now look up.
Yes.
I have a crush; But this isn't just a crush its a crime, against God, my mother, that girl who just said gross.
More orders.
Sit down, look away as she smiles in your face because you will only fall harder for her.
Oh, how I wish I could touch her hair and see if its really as soft as it looks.
her eyes are so inviting and they seem deeper than the ocean.
Flawless or flaw filled skin I Don't care!
All I see is a beautiful girl that will never be mine, on the sidelines is where I stand at the dance.
Waiting for a dance with her that will never happen.
Just another to the puzzle and I'm exactly the perfect fit for a best friend just not a girlfriend.
Those eyes.
So full of wonder and joy but mine only filled with pain because she doesn't  feel the same as I do.
Sit down, don't look around, don't breathe in her flowery scent as if is your last breath.
The roses only bloom in the spring but she is a rose of another breed, blossoming into the most beautiful flower all year round.
Slim fingers for a warm embrace, oh if I could trace the lines in her face I would remove every frustration.
Her mind is as beautiful as she, knowledge filled, ready to build up walls to keep everything out.
I want to tear down them down, see her frown turn up. My orders.
No!
Don't touch her rosy cheeks, stop trying to peak at her smile, when she asks you what's wrong brush it off!
If we could just go back to first grade where I first fell for her I would never have said hello.
Kept my mouth shut and taught my heart to do the same.
Most say that I'm confused and that I can never truly understand love but I do.
I love her!
My Final orders.
Be a Good Friend.
Don't cry.
Don't let her see you pain

Can I swallow some pills to help me swallow the pain?

Give me a blade so I can slice away.

Teach me to hold things in and I will teach you to deposit small weights of trickery into your pockets.

Swallow the cotton, throw up the daze.

Make me into a silicone shape.

You be the painter and I'll be the paint.

Now try to turn me a new shade of grey.

I said I would quite and, I know I promised but darlin' this world is tearing the cries from my soul and making them scream from a voice that is dead.
I confuse the tears with rain and the cries with laughter.
the fountain of youth was never a horizon to be reached but an illusion to be seen.
The fire red blood slips from my veins as the silver toys come out to play.
Now they are put away.
But that night...
That night my mind went blank and the only tortured thought soaking into my brain was ending the riveting, searing, pain.
It's in my chest, please get this dreadful music out of my head!
To make room for the final peaceful ballad.
Sadly.. my song still remains, and the silver comes out to play.

Look at me.Let my skin tell you a story of pain and suffering, let my eyes give you sight and show you my history. And it's odd to me because as history goes I know of her struggle but not her name, my great grandmama's face, nor my great grandfather stern gaze. My history was ripped from me then handed back in a textbook, like a stolen jewel being given back as a gift from its captors. They try to cultivate and appropriate my culture like it's a shirt that fits them better. You asked me what I'm mixed with because you see my blackness as something to be covered. But my blackness is not ***** that needs a chaser, it is not a ***** car that needs a little whitewashing and a paint job.
You asked me what I'm mixed with so here is my response; I am mixed with melanin and love swlirled into chocolate beauty. I'm mixed with strength and pride, fierce do I roar with the voice of the wise ancestors who gave birth to hope for my grandma, my mommy, and me. I am one part black and ninety nine parts victory. I am not a tragedy of circumstance I am a product of excellence. You ask me if I am mixed because you think I'm to pretty to just be black. Here's a news flash, I am pretty because I'm black! From the kinks of my curls to the dance in my toes, I am designed from the roots of the earth. In tune with its gravitational pull.
Everyone knows the moon only shines in the blackness of night. Stop trying to force an eclipse because they don't last anyway, only burn out to be surrounded by the blackness once more. You asked me what I'm mixed with, allow me the same courtesy. Are you mixed? What are you mixed with? Fear, hate, rage, disgust, or shame? I don't assume any of these for a wise woman once said, " people are diamonds made up of different pressure some in different measures and if you don't know don't judge for it is not your contest." I am on a conquest of love and redemption. I won't blame you for your ancestors but I will hold you to a certain standard.
So before you ask me what I am mixed with, think. Does it even matter?pretty is pretty so don't you dare come at a Nubian goddess cross eyed or tongue-tied, prepared to gain insight of her bloodline. She will shatter all illusion, destroy all thoughts of doubt. She will tell you she is black. She will say it in a song song voice because of the melody ringing in her soul when she makes this known. It will roll off her tongue like honey. For no other words ever tasted so sweet. She is a black queen. Mixed with blood and bones.

Hey there old friend. Maybe friend isn’t the correct term, so allow me to rephrase. Hello old habit. You and me were best friends. We were the Thelma and Louise of our time and yes we flew over the cliff and plunged into the abyss. I was sick and I only needed you. Not chicken soup which is weird because I always thought you were better when heated on a spoon. I thought you were all the antibiotics I needed. You and me were married once. I woke up to you, thought about you all day long, and rushed you into my arms at night. But that was just the honeymoon phase.
My friend, my disease. I was in it not for the thrill of the chase but for the end of my pain. When I was with you I saw my dreams come true. Pigs were flying, Donald Trump wasn’t considered sane enough to run the country, and I didn’t have to believe I was dying. I didn’t have to care about Tom, Ben, or Jerry. Care if the birds flew south to avoid harsh winters or harsh people. I avoided both. I only cared about cutting  perfect line, rolling a perfect dime, and making sure I didn’t look high. If I said I didn’t miss you I would be lying but hey, you’ve made a liar out of me before. It’s easy to try and ignore the hell you put me through, but I would walk a thousand miles of hells seventh floor before I slip back into that fantasy. That coma of things that have never been and could never not be. Me and the devil have danced nine times to many and I know all his sweet moves.

My friend, my affliction, Kryptonite doesn’t have a **** thing on you! You kept me down for four years. Only down was up and up was blue and it was way to difficult to stop believing in you. Believing you were better than real love. I loved you so much. You were my sweetheart, my honeybear, my chrystal, my blow, my k2 spice, my daily fix. But you can’t fix this! You can’t fix my past or make my future bright. I know I sound like I’ve suddenly seen the light but it was always there. I just chose to close my eyes.
My friend I think it’s best we stop playing this game. It’s time I call you by your true name. Addiction, you were never my friend only another bullet I’d bitten. Addiction you are my cancer, you may not be stage four but you're still terminal. You were the Thelma to my Louise. Only now if I am driven to the edge of insanity I’ll skid to a stop. I will watch as you fall over the edge, and I’ll smile as you dive into oblivion. A place I never again want to be.