i was on my way
to work when i heard
the broken voice
of a saddened and abandoned
feral kitten.

broken, damaged, scared
like i had once been
when i was the size
of my father's
cupped palms.

when my mother left me
out in the frozen winter
which was still
warmer than her
frigid heart.

two drinks in, and
she was mother of the year.
four drinks in, and
her eyes changed shape and color.
six killed all kinship,
all love, all parental
boundaries.

"Shut up, you little ******!" she'd say
when i'd already learned
to stay quiet but
what's that last word?

my mother was a different color
and really quite furious
that i never moved
to the back
of her ******.

i was the rosa of her womb
refused to do and spoke
before spoken to.
when she pushed and hollered
for my unearned love
i outright refused.

i'd learned to read
by the age of three
and did well to ignore
by the age of four.
i'd learned that books
tend to lie a little less
than mothers do,
and hurt a little less,
too.

so i'd read quietly inside
the library of my mind
while she'd be losing
hers.

reciting passages from
psych books at the age of ten
it's not her fault, i'd read,
she's sick.
it's not my fault,
or is it?

like that kitten i'd crossed
i'd forgotten what
a hug felt like,
tucked under mother's warmth.
i'd only known that defense was right
when madness began
to swarm.

i am  not your ******
nor your sister.
i do not know the meaning
of these words, mister.
except
in instances where
i hate us
like
they hate us.

a putrid loathing
sprouting from different
colored grounds
but a dangerous flower
nonetheless.

they are not just words,
they are drops of blood
spilled from the lashed backs
of our enslaved
triple grandfathers
and mothers.

our slang replaces
hoses
pushing us back
during marches
and righteous riots.

aggression
equals regression
equals deppression.

and now,
it's all our fault.
now it's
black on black assault.
now it's
fly shoes and ghetto booties.
poppin' bottles and
poppin' caps,
running through nights like
street ******* rats.

what would
W.E.B. DuBois say if
he'd seen this
backstep taken
after we'd come this far,
after reaching for stars
and dropping
the ball?

now
i love this color.
i love this color
and prefer no other.

all i'm saying is,
let us pick one day
when we put the negroidian away
put ****** back in it's roots.
no, not the movie,
don't me toby.

let us get the dream rollin'
Mister King style,
not Master P style.
no big rims, or leather seats.
none of that ****
for awhile.

i'm saying takeover.
i'm saying african-america makeover.
i'm saying,
let's take
our pride back,
like our
homeland lions.
let us make black
a taste not so sour.

i'm saying,
Black Power.

if i ever love again
it will be tomorrow
or the next day
or the next
in such a natural, evolved way.

i love and am in love
consistently,
permissively,
incessantly.

it's loving..

just pure souls touched
like
a simple handshake
or
smile exchanged.

every women is a goddess.
even the sad and bitter,
broken,
choking on every emotion,
beautiful
deity.

that is me.
deity.
bronze goddess, me.

i am woman,
hear me purrrr...
when you look at me
with woeful eyes
ever so
lovely.
touch me,
ever so,
behind that place...
you know?

looking out into a world
i made with my own
hands,
molding clay,
folding pieces like origami;

like God and her gorgeous eve,
which only took about a week,
yet mine,
seven years times three.

a world built on
a lack of love,
no miracles above.

just something from the inside
of every pair
of beautiful eyes
that saw what i could not surmise
about myself.
putting every woman on the
tip top, highest shelf.

even the ***-crazed heathens
committed to
stealing pieces of my heart away
when i'd be
more than pleased
to give them freely
and entirely.

that fiery,
from the pit of hell
burning,
yearning,
lusting and learning.

if i was damaged
along the way,
i never minded the price i paid.
i never minded
getting laid.

i only ever minded
the love going away.
never wanting to stay,
turning back around
as if only to say,

maybe..
i'll come back around
your way,
just don't start counting the days
or the moons.
just stop trying altogether
to make girls swoon

because this
is the simple
and honest truth.

if you ever love again
by midnight
or by noon,
it will still
have been
too soon.

It’s nothing I want to be apart of anymore.
Does anyone take the world seriously anymore?
The government fights a war.
Our government?
Oh no.
Our big brother.
Our watchful eye.
Our masters
Oh yes.

Say not a word against them
for, the walls may hear you
and tell of the skeletons in your closet.
They'll tell the fat cats that sit
on their fat rumps
with a hard grasp
on the purse strings
of the machine.

All while the babies cry out
because mother is still yet a child
and  she can’t afford
the milk.

Moses’ fiery Bush shakes hands
with the devil
then travels back east
to write his own dictionary.
While the fate of your future  is tossed
to young brutes taught not to question,
“Why?”
Taught not to ask nor tell.
Only to shoot and ****
and come back a hero.

They fight the war against a violent enemy:
Fear and greed.
While the big Men lean back
to watch these people risk everything
but their pride.

"Our freedom is at stake," they say.
"Burn their homes and take their lives!
for it’s in the name of freedom!"

May God lay his blessings upon America,
and bet His life-savings on our victory.
For we are righteous in our decisions,
and so we give the gift of democracy,
a token to remember US by.

And the next time you are left with nothing,
we will give our stars and stripes.

Whether I’ve waited too long,
or I’m coming on too strong
I feel the need to put my words
where they belong;
In the drum of your ear,
beating to the sound of this nondescript fear
of “have I said too much?”
or “too little?” --
of wondering when my feet
will reach the middle
ground, between overkill and not enough.
That just right feeling we’ve all built up
for one girl or another,
trading one choice for the other
and never being quite satisfied
with the path you’ve taken;

but every time I choose you
my heart is breaking.
The crackling sound that
my heart keeps making
is like the sound of
a burning wood fire on a cold winter night
where I stare into the flames
like I stare into your eyes,
and remember you staring back like
you were looking for something.

And what that something was
is beyond me
but I sure hoped
that it was there for you to find.
and I sure hoped
that you could read my mind,
because my nerves stopped
my lips from moving,
and I’m constantly in question
of what I might be doing.

Now we’ve had our share
of one night stands,
and I hoped they would progress
to maybe holding hands.
But what I’ve learned is that
you can’t make life rewind
and run backwards
from the finish line,
you can’t make time
turn counter-clockwise.
I know driving through life
there are no u-turn signs.

As much as I wanted
to start by saying “I like you”
and do those cute things
that new lovers do,
it was never the case,
and I just got used.
nothing more
than a kid
to keep you amused.

Newly two decades old,
we’re both still young,
even if you’ve reached
the year of twenty-one.
Your heart doesn’t rest
atop your sleeve,
it’s comfortably hidden
away from me.
but I only ask for
one small peak
to settle my inner child’s
curiosity.
When night falls, I don’t want
what you think I do
what I really want
is to get to know you.

I couldn’t care less
about getting in your pants,
although I wouldn’t say no
given the chance.
But again, I’m content
with just sitting near you.
Us, just staring up at
the midnight moon
as she whispers
sweet nothings
to make you swoon
until the morning light
has come too soon.

I want to remember
the map of your face,
to feel how it fits
where my hand is placed.
I want to remember
the placement of every tattoo
as if I was the artist that
had drawn it on you.
I want to remember
the feeling of
the parts in your lips
where rings once docked
like navy ships.
I want to take you dancing
to feel your hips,
and make your morning coffee
to hear you sip.

This may be nothing more
than a simple crush
but it may be love, too,
not to make things rush.
But I’m bad with words when
they’re flying from my mouth
like confused grey geese
heading north instead of south.
So this is me starting the dialogue
without feeling wary of getting it wrong
because if I am then I’ll move on,
I won't mourn the day that
I wake and you're gone.

I played witness to a society crumbling
streets cracked and schools shut down
the landscape has grown beyond troubling.
My litter stains the earth just as
the blood stains the streets
and still no one takes notice.

Every anti-action can be guilt free
when not one person considers this place
or how it’s become a monstrosity.

Who, now, will watch the world end?
Your future children, or theirs after?
How long can we hold this green-patched trend?
How long before the affluence takes hold?
Or has it got it’s grips on us so hard
that everyone believes what they’re told?
Everyone has someone to answer to
but no one can provide an answer
that speaks a complete and honest truth.

Discrimination has not yet been abolished
but the modest effort can be seen
where it’s been masked and lightly polished
to be put on display as a once-was.
Politically corrected and cleverly disguised
but I still see a still-is that’s nearly silenced us.

What has occurred cannot be undone
but I still want to change the world
at least before my hate crime comes.