My mother dresses me in gowns,
stockings, fleece jackets,
She pulls my hair up into a ponytail,
sometimes braids it into conrows,
She spanks my *** when i mess it,
She scolds when my outfit is ***** or greasy,

My father lives in the South side,
He dresses me in a suit and tie,
He likes my hair in a bun,
On the weekends he likes me in sweatpants and a tee-shirt,
***** and greasy in his garage,

I like me having a choice,
I want me on overalls, shorts, jeans and african print on Sundays,
I like my hair messy and short,
I hate the society norms

There’s a place printed in the horizon construed with profound love concealed inside of your heart
A place where you have never settled your pupils upon
A Place where your ears have never discerned the sounds of
Your fingers have never felt the silk, the delicacy of every breath taken from the erring lips of humanity
A place brighter than the coruscation of stars
Shinier than the shimmers reflected from the depth of the soul

Symmetrical

It feels like I'm in a zombie apocalypse; find myself captured and incarcerated in a tempest.
As the color of the sky changes I hear of deaths and rages
From all people of different ages scared of what the world will bring to them
So they forget that the world is their home when they shed blood, like rusty leaves dragged across the streets by the wind
I forget that I am a dark room
Consumed in silence, devoured by renaissance of hate

Salutes and whistling hoots
Upon those calling for destruction
The world that our souls abide in isn't one with sound security
The large books of recovery sit closely
Protected by clowns with crowns on straight hair or conrows
I wonder what's its like to be liberty's foe
Freedom is woman everyone is dying to have in their lives
If it was so much as an illusion then i guess its best that we sustain our "rights"  in these times
It's hard to find a voice when they've stripped us of our identity from the day we were born
Built the best nests of the finest twigs
With coatings of racist remarks and destruction's darks

At school we were always told to add  white paint to the black
Never the black to the white
See the notion of white savior pigmented minds, polluted hearts tracing hues of  charcoal
Now the kids have gone wild color blind and left trapped to choose between black or white then  red and blue
Gang signs and colored shoes
As if the bloods infuse
transfusion of life
and the crips buy you a pack of chips
these kids dont realize that the very pigments are of the same shade, the blood that runs in their arteries
Dripping like raindrops suspended from the deepest cut found scarred in their lips
Blue, the hue of the sky
They wished they knew their own mothers just as well as they knew *******


This is the place you live. It’s a place of recognition
A place where your heart never loved
A place where pointing fingers never pointed back at yourself
A place where you wake up every day smelling the burning of organic coal
A place where the drums of your ears scream damaged
A place where every print carved into your fingers cry for freedom
A place darker than obsidian
Darker than the grains of asphalt making up the patterned flesh

Fashioned

The sun wears its mask pretty well
As though every day is a masquerade it chooses not to lose the praise it stains in the t – shirts we wear everyday
Hear it in the thoughts of our prayers
It was always the mind that played in its forceful nature, a couple of shots to make your skin thicker, hands tougher, the teeth of your comb harder to brush of the falling debris in your roots and you still stutter.
The relapse of your words,silent screams contained to endevour all its pleasures
A heart yet pure in its majesty forever...skin smooth enough to pile a 1000 sins in the gutter
T shirt stains, pockets of memories to remember...
"Its so hard for anyone to show us how we look and its so hard for us to show anyone how we feel"
But its only when we directly stare at the sun, do we see the silhouettes of carelessness