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Feb 2019 · 88
A Poem for a Poet
Omi Feb 2019
Sometimes I forget that I am a poet until I meter lost dreams into sonnets or I burn eggs into soot and draw out long lines in the pan

I forget that my fingers, though long and clumsy, routinely drum delicate cadences across the hard smooth surfaces of tables and door handles or even the soft hilly bits of flesh and fat

I forget the way that my teeth click and grind or the way that my toes dig and scratch into the rough patches under my feet

And the sound it makes

Or the rattle of my breath as I stomp and the room shakes
I forget that line that I inhale with smoke and exhale in contempt

I forget about the crunching of scratching and the rustling of shifting limbs
I forget about the restlessness in my palms and the sloshing of rough skin when they meet to make warmth  

I forget about the words spoken under my breath when my eyes have glossed over and my thought are darting across islands

I forget about the tangibility of my shifting whims and the sounds that they make as they make their homes in the walls around me
And the residual letters that shed from the carcassed corners of whims left for dead


Sometimes I forget because I am fickle and absent
Sometimes I just forget…
But then I remember
That I am a poet
First poem in a log while
Omi Mar 2017
i raised my eye at that quip you made
juvenile and mirth
i raised my hand to brush the dust from the
tip of your nose, making you presentable
like grown men are
i raised my head and poured out from my ear into your mouth
nourishing the unblemished reaches of your being

i fed and raised you to be the man i needed you to be
but little did i know
i was raising you for someone else
Jun 2016 · 428
All My Children
Omi Jun 2016
If I could impregnate myself with my tears
My children would be innumerable and divine
Delicate as the lilacs at my feet
And as giving as my mothers hands

My children and I would dance wildly to the sound of the shaking leaves
And laugh until we cried at the absurdity of the decaying frames of the eternal surrounding infrastructures

I would gather our collective tears and water my children
Careful to sift the salt and reserve just enough for future implantation

My babies would nest in the tight curls of my crown and I would rock them to sleep in the gentle curve of my lashes
Blinking slowly and steadily to ease the restlessness of their being

If I could birth my children from my ear
I’d rest my head on a pillow and never leave
I’d rest my head flat on the soft surface
Turning my head only slightly to the left to give a final shake
Releasing my babies from their sack

I’d let them snuggle against my cheek as I sang to them the songs of the old Gods
And the new
I’d warm them with heat of my breath and nourish them with the saliva of my tongue
I’d listen intently to their soft whispers inquiring about the beams of light seeping through the cracks of the walls
And
The vines sprouting through the floor boards and climbing pillars on the bed

If I could birth my children from the scrapings from under my fingernails
I’d tear at my flesh until there was nothing left but raw nerve and blood
I’d dress them in gowns made from the weaved patches of hair growing across my mons *****
And I’d make them sun hats from the shattered pieces of my toe nails

If I could sink into the soil and grow my babies from my decay
I’d sprout a row of sunflowers
And the many seeds in its ***** would be my youngins
They’d fall away one by one
Matured
And run off uninhibited into the spring

Little pieces of me
Drowning in the sunshine
Free
This poem is a work in progress
Jun 2016 · 283
(Untitled) For My Friend
Omi Jun 2016
Breathe life in and expel out the myth-hood of obscurity
Life worth living is a life where breathing in the exquisities of sunshine are a must
Breathe in the vibrancy of natures yellows and
Taste only delicately the alluring blues of wall shaking emotion

Oxygenate yourself in the blood red rushes of movement
Douse yourself in the Violet's of Royal indulgences
Run swiftly through the greens of the leaves and
Let the brown branches snag only  your insecurities

Run free into the wild night and be one with the erratic nature of the wind
Ascend into the sky and rest peacefully on the rainbow.

Release your tears during your slumber and let them drip through the clouds.
Nourish the lushness of the budding lilacs with the dew of your dreams
And
Wash out the tumultuous uncertainties of your nature

Paint the world into color with your tongue and blend the layers of the paints with the heart of your palms
Prune the garden with the hardened tips of your nails and pack away the nasties in your satchel

Let down your hair and bare the rawness of its strands against the paleness of your *******.
Then

Angle your face towards the sun
Soak in all its light and let it burn through the soft spungy tissue of your eyes

Collect the soot and mud and sweat and snot and blood from under your feet
And stuff them into the gaping sockets

Blink and see the life you have made
Smile and rest and be at peace with yourself for what you have made
Is good
Wrote this for a friend who has been goig through a bit of a rough patch. She is brilliant and wonderful.
May 2016 · 361
Satiate
Omi May 2016
Ever been inspired beyond words?
Awed by the sunlight?
Licked delicately by the rain?
Breathed in deeply the sour green of the grass?

Ever plunged your fingers deep into a bin of beans?
Ran your fingers through hay?
Cried out under the stars?
Laughed at the wrong moment?
Or released with the wrong lover?

You are every ***** little tantalizing feeling ever.
You are the tingle deep in my bones.
You are burning me from the inside and I was naive enough to try and banish you with antacids.

You are that addictive feeling and I'm not sure that I can rid you
Or that I want to

We are a nasty little triffle
Yang and yang
We are the wrong side of the bed
We are Fire and air

We are poison
We are detriment
We are bound
I am bound
I am happy
You are my devil
You are sin
And I am your sin eater

And I will eat
And eat
And eat
Until we are both clean
Of each other
Nov 2015 · 364
#9
Omi Nov 2015
#9
I made a lover of the sun
And it burned me deliciously
Every blister that rose on my flesh lingered there and stung me like a shallow kiss

And just before it abandoned me for the twilight
It provoked my soul
And once again I was lit
But exceedingly alone
Part of a developing series
Feb 2015 · 4.7k
Focus
Omi Feb 2015
My focus has been ****** since the day I was born
I was shot out of the womb, flipped upside down on my head,
And had my *** pounded until it was raspberry red

One would think that at that point in my life
My focus might have been on the colostrum
But being ****** to and fro is enough to pull anyones focus
Asunder, from the teet to the ceiling, to the wall, and eventually
Into pieces on the floor

My focus has been ****** since the age of nine
I wanted swing high on the swing set and play kickball with my friends
But my focus was torn by the torments of my ragged looks
The shame of my poor disposition
And the embarrassment of wearing my borrowed bra and donated clothes

My focus has been ****** since the eve of seventeen
When I thought that I was in love with a boy who never seemed to see me
I wanted to brush my fingers through his hair while we feigned awareness in American History
Or lie on his chest as he sang to me strumming on his ukulele
Which made it rather hard focus on geometry
But I was correct in my original assertion that he never ever noticed me

My focus has been ****** since the day I turned twenty-four
And I say that as I am sitting in class writing this story
Property is fun and law school is aight in general
But how could I possibly focus on executory interest
When failing out would ironically fair my nerves so much better?
Wrote this in class. I have officially checked out.
Omi Feb 2015
You have a girlfriend
How convenient for you to have forgot
When you were

Hugging me
Touching me
Kissing me
Watching me

Walk from across the room
When you were

Counseling me
Making plans to dance on me
Laughing with me
And telling me about how perfect I was

Maybe I just got the wires crossed
But

You have a girlfriend
And what a convenient thing for you to have forgot
Dec 2014 · 280
Christmas is Here!
Omi Dec 2014
But I seemed to have misplaced all of that ******* cheer
Christmas, poem, thenapturalone, cheer,
Dec 2014 · 1.6k
Yeye Omo Eja
Omi Dec 2014
Sea foam the color of breast milk is frothing up thick like honey
Salt crystals are dancing across my skin while the cold ocean water
Wraps itself around my ankles and begins to slowly rise reaching the ‘not-quite-there’ gap of my thighs

The bigness of it all usually overwhelms and dwarfs me

I’m a big girl
Chocolate, broad shouldered, and stout
But the largeness of this world often leaves me feeling small and without

But today,
Standing in the darkness,
I feel at home and tall
Mama swam up out of those waters
Proud and Black with tears running blue

She looked to me and sang melodically, but fiercely,
Here, Baby Girl, is a Crown of seashells and Pearls for you.
Now tuck back those shoulders and stand up straight. Kick up your heals and roll your thighs. Never let them forget just who is the prize. You will birth their sons and make great their daughters. You will heal their sick hearts with this here water. You will swallow your pride as I will make you whole. You will be shrouded in blue but dusted with gold. Cut free your sins and dance through the night because in the twirl of your skirt, the rumble of your laugh, the pitch of your screams and the stealth of your or dance, will make you great and show you the path to my kingdom. Welcome home, at very long last.


I hunched over again and let wash over me, the water
I let out a long cry
I am truly my mother’s sacred daughter

Haughty and fierce
Bold and indignant
Fiercely loyal
And protective of my children

I love you Iya
You have shown me the way
At last I am home
In the blue with you

Vast and safe and sacred and old

Iya…

Maferefun…

Forever will I give praise to you.
I am a crowned Priestess of Yemaya in the Lucumí tradition. This poem is about a deeply personal experience that I had visiting the ocean right before initiating as a priest.
Dec 2014 · 620
Pending
Omi Dec 2014
I wanted to write you in a song
But the lyrics slipped through my fingers and fell onto stone

I wanted to scoop you up and put you back together again
But like eggshells you cracked into a million pieces leaving me to clean up after you again

I wanted to be grown and to do things on my own
But my fingers are frozen and my legs are no longer strong

I wanted to not run after you again
But you walked off briskly and with you went the warmth of my sun

I wanted desperately to set you free
But my own freedom had stripped and locked away from me

I wanted to keep the last parts of my sanity for myself
But I put that **** on the shelf and you saw fit go ahead and help yourself

I wanted to give this poem with a happy ending
But much like with you, it will be ending

But
Pending…
Jul 2014 · 2.9k
Flight (A 10 Word Poem)
Omi Jul 2014
Everything flies
until it comes crashing,
recklessly, into the ground
Jul 2014 · 2.0k
Right
Omi Jul 2014
Your opinion  is awfully one sided
And slanted against the left
But, the right side is decidedly better
So my complaints are minimal
And equally so to yours
One sided at best
FYI: This is not a poem about politics.
Jul 2014 · 949
#8
Omi Jul 2014
#8
Curiously, I follow the trail
Until it forks in two
I stop and sit in the middle of the road
And contemplate directions until
I grow very
and feebly old.
Jul 2014 · 323
#7
Omi Jul 2014
#7
I made a lover of the sun
And just before it scorched my skin
It ignited my soul
Jul 2014 · 632
Shits and Giggles (10W)
Omi Jul 2014
Wrote this poem for ***** and giggles, but mostly *****
Jul 2014 · 6.0k
Hopelessly Romantic Bullshit
Omi Jul 2014
I simply can not with the hopelessly romantic ******* that I continuously subject myself to
It incessantly picks at the self professed pragmatism that I so pride myself with
It eats away at the wall of, "I am strong Black woman who don't need no man"
It jeers at the tub of vaseline by my bed and the smell of ***** on my fingers
It claws at the parts of my identity who refuses to lose weight or to conform to some caricature of who I refuse to be

It makes my entire *** tired
Yet,

I can not shake this hopelessly romantic ******* feeling in the pit of my stomach that seeks to undermine my accomplishments by making me feel less than for lacking a partner

Unless your are going to pay my bills hopelessly romantic ******* feeling
I need you get the the **** out
And get the **** on

Because, denial worked for me yesterday so it **** well better work today
Jul 2014 · 7.0k
Funky
Omi Jul 2014
Your ***** is funky
Dripping nectar like fine wine
Your ***** is thick
Fine hairs, crazed and divine

Your ***** don’t taste like water
It smells like a grown woman do
Your thighs are black
And slick with dew

Your ***** looks fuzzy
Your thighs do too
Razors don’t show it love
And chub rub burns it like glue

Your ***** ain’t pink
It ain’t petite
Its quite fat
Your ***** still pretty

Not that you needed affirmation of that fact
Jul 2014 · 1.1k
Untitled
Omi Jul 2014
I used to be Deep
Conversing for hours about
The state of America,
Chanting songs of political freedom
And lamenting about Black struggles and Queer Politics

I used to be Complex too
Drinking Americano
Using words like Ornery and Astute
Reading books by Brother West
And articles from the Brookings Institute


I used to Poetic
Resurrecting line after line of intense emotion and lyrical brilliance
Effortless rhyme and impeccable syntax
Spitting common sense and writing haikus about love and resilience

I was beautifully and unapologetically Black
So Black that the milk flowed ebony from my breast and filled the sky
It nourished that dark matter and flourished the light
It buffered the rays and kissed your skin
It sweetened the air and made vibrant your kin

I used to be a Woman
Feminine and soft
Bold and daring

My womb birthed the sea and impassioned the storm
I painted my lips with clay and tooted my own **** horn

I used to be these things
And now, collectively, I am all,

When the air leaves my chest mountains crumble and fall

This is not an anthem about womanhood and there is no need to roar
My truth is will break your back in a whisper and pierces like the tusks of a boar

I can not be quantified, qualified, or so easily identified

I am, I am
And I am will speak on it no more.
Jul 2014 · 279
#6
Omi Jul 2014
#6
I feel broken inside
hollowed out
But I will find my way back in
Jul 2014 · 426
#5
Omi Jul 2014
#5
The chill in the air has peaked my *******
And numbed my fingers,
Not sure if I feel more alive
Or closer to death
Jul 2014 · 365
#4
Omi Jul 2014
#4
I always spot you in the weirdest places
You never see me or look up in time to return my gaze
Thank God for little miracles
Jul 2014 · 320
#3
Omi Jul 2014
#3
My hands can be more productive than this
But when you call them home they can hardly resist
My love, my sweet, stop your calling
Because, though a soft moan is much more enthralling
Mama has bills to pay
Jul 2014 · 2.4k
#2
Omi Jul 2014
#2
I have always liked the color blue
violets are blue, So here my love
Is a violet for you.
Jul 2014 · 297
#1
Omi Jul 2014
#1
You painted my love in your smile
Like all smiles do,
It faded away

— The End —