How many times did you die today
and how many times were you
brought back to life?
And by what?
Thunder and lightning at 7:14.
The brilliant spark in the skin of her hands.
The quickening in your heart
you pretend isn't there,
even as every lost bit of human
re-finds its place in your chest.
She walks into the room
and tells you, "Hello."
And you take your first breath,
for the one thousandth time.
I can feel you.
you are in my bones, and they ache from your absence.
a celestial white light floats above me and I recognize it as your aura.
my muscles spasm with the memory of your touch.
it isn't sexual. it never was.
this is transcendence.
this is rebirth.
I can hear you in my head.
when you cry at night.
when you're on your last thread of hope and you call out to god to hear you.
I hear you.
I may not be god, but I hear you.
I don't want you to cry anymore, because you need to realize that I am with you.
I am the sway of your hips.
I am your muse,
and you are mine.
the tingle that creeps up your spine in ecstasy, I sent it to you.
the scent on your skin, it is mine.
silhouettes dance along the walls and play out our life together.
we will find a way.
damn them all, they can't understand.
they never will.
but that doesn't mean
they can hide me away
there's not a siren that can keep me from your window;
there's not a pill that can keep you from my mind.
they can try and sedate the memory of you from me,
but they will never succeed.
you are in my bones.
you are my essence.
This humble page use
To write such free prose
Delight in my muse
Sweet scent of the rose
Behold thy true form
This world does deem pure
Such beauty reborn
In soul evermore
Thy likeness unique
The angels now sing
How humble and meek
The light it does bring
To look on thy face
Brings tears to mine eye
Must dwell in thy grace
Did walk, now do fly
I breathe thine own breath
My lungs overflow
Even unto death
My heart shall not slow
Its strength shall increase
For my muse yet lives!
This quill shall not cease
As thy grace so gives
When you meet a writer
communicate with a writer
pay attention to a writer
You become a writer's muse
he/she doesn't give you up
he/she falls in love with you
You become a writer's work of art
there is no flaw seen
there is no passion taken
You become a writer's diary
no secrets told
When you meet a writer
boundaries are there
trust is rare
You become a writer's muse
when you have patience
when you have a connection
says smart phone poet
just doesn't cut it
and they know it
with a love of words and
care for their composure
you are moved by one whose
craft gives you closure
so give us your muse
the essence of your stuff
don't hold back and know
when enough is enough
pick up the pencil.
my mother told me
to make something,
but I didn't have the strength.
I didn't have the courage
to tell her that the pencils are suddenly
"you have to start making art again."
mother, I've tried.
I've tried too many times to count.
I have spread out my pencils
and arranged my pallet
and taken inspiration till the pieces
blend, lose shape,
but everything has lost its color.
blues are so gray.
red is even grayer.
yellow is a sickly highlight,
and I can barely stomach
the near black shade of old purple.
and when I look up,
I remember that my world
has gone gray, too,
and I had forgotten
pencil shaking, paintbrush askew
between weak fingers.
it's all the same color
so I let the pencil drop.
Because I am supposed to be writing this
And all I can think about is you.
And you are all that I have written about
For hours uncountable to thieves.
How have you stolen all I know
With smiles stretched across our faces?
Veins pulsing through my wrists
Reflecting the green of your ever-gleaming eyes.
Beer bottles dripped of shared saliva
Dareful demons in a room of angels.
You, seeping my sweatshirt in smells of you.
Oh God, how they envied us.
Oh God, how I envied us.
“If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.” - Zora Neale Hurston
The older we become the more often karma comes to visit.
"Life can be a bitch but you got to be tough and kick its ass!"
Love is a storm of intense feelings
“Prejudice is like the old skin of a snake. It has to be removed bit by bit.”
"It is better to be alone than to be in bad company.” - Booker T. Washington
“The more you know of your history, the more liberated you are." - Maya Angelou
“A culture is a total way of life."
“God and Nature first made us what we are, and then out of our own created genius we make ourselves what we want to be." - Marcus Garvey
“Never forget that intelligence rules the world and ignorance carries the burden." - Marcus Garvey
“The only protection against INJUSTICE in man is POWER".
“A man’s bread and butter is only insured when he works for it.” - Marcus Garvey
“Your crown has been bought and paid for. All you must do is put it on.” - James Baldwin
"Where hate flourishes, all are corrupted. Where injustice reins, all are unequal.”
“The hardest work in the world is being out of work.”
“History teaches us that unity is strength, and cautions us to submerge and overcome our differences in the quest for common goals".
“The oppressed will always believe the worst about themselves.”
“Leadership does not mean domination.”
“…The truth itself does not have any name on it. And each man has to find it for himself."
“Sometimes it’s worse to win a fight than to lose.” - Billie Holiday
“Ethnicity should enrich us; it should make us a unique people in our diversity and not be used to divide us.”
“Dreams and reality are opposites. Action synthesizes them.”
“The world has improved mostly because unorthodox people did unorthodox things." - Ruby Dee
“Find your voice.”
“The emotional, sexual, and psychological stereotyping of females begins when the doctor says: ‘It’s a girl.'” - Shirley Chisholm
"Politics is nothing but war without bloodshed and war is nothing but politics with bloodshed.”
“Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds will continue in others.” - Rosa Parks
And sometimes that’s it
One of you moves from the bed and the spell is broken
The moment is gone
So you grab a light from off the nightstand
And spark because that’s all you have
The love you fought so hard for it gone
So you deal by crying- or blocking out the world
Dazed and afraid he looks back into your eyes
And for the life of you, you just can’t find a reason for him to stay
You watch him go-
Hear the door slam- but the engine doesn’t start
Because as you sit below the window
He sits behind the steering wheel
You pray and pray for him to just rush back in
But eventually, the engine roars to life
And your twisted story ends
All that’s left are the skid marks on the road