"mbm" poems
What once is now was
My feet tread delicately over egg shells
Balance on unsturdy tightropes
My body's equilibrium thrown off
My legs shake like an earthquake of emotion
From outer to inner core, I see
A slimmer of green light, my american dream
I am the Great Gatsby
Holding onto a bit of the past
Desiring it to become the present
To the future of mine
Yet with soft words
I am met with inevitable flames of anger
A rage so powerful, so dangerous
So provoking, prodding me like a cow
The man I was born from
Whom is supposed to defend me
Is one that destroys me
His words conform, turning into a wrecking ball
Slam into my heart, destroying it
Pieces fall down like pebbles tip, tipping against a lover's window
Except it taps the windows of Satan
Awakening unknown, terrifying horrors
As bottles clink, can crash, alcohol splatters
So does the confidence I once had
mbm
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 6:47 PM UTC
I am just like you, except there is something stopping me
Racism; Stunting me from the same opportunities as any other person
Being an outcast, a black sheep in a world of white sheep
Due to the melanin in my skin, a feature everyone has that is skin deep
I come from the natural essences of meticulous hair products in my hair
Used to tame my true being because it looks ***** when in reality my hair is but of African descent, as am I
As I walk past you, you give me nasty looks as the smell of my tamed curls wafts to your nose
I walk like you, talk with the same tongues as you, see like you do, and have a soul within the vessel of my body and hear the same way
Only the things I hear and see are not kind or compliments about things I wear or how I look
Instead, I am met with hateful eyes, pointing fingers and a raised voice
I am judged for anything I do: my native tongue, my natural curls, and the color of my skin
You look at me with belligerent eyes, your hands moving around symbolically to create a point
I am just you, just with many differences between us and a whole different world; yours without segregation
I am just like you, I can express how I feel in different ways just like you can
I can create music with my tongue and I can create a dance with the rhythm my ancestors blessed upon me
I can create a sketch or painting with my hands to express the tragedies segregation has caused
I move my feel methodically to the words of God himself, which uplift my conflicted soul in desperate need of prayer
I am just like you, except my world consists of using “colored” bathrooms and sitting in places only for “colored” people
Is the reason that I am called colored is due to the color of my skin, which is unnatural to your European eyes?
I go to church just like you and believe in the same ten commandments just as you
If there’s one thing you should know, it is that I am just like you; I am human
mbm
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
As the smoke of a forgotten lover rises from your tainted skin
You sigh and realize what you've done; total annihilation
The bones you carry lie within you limply as you lie still
Your joints clatter like castanets collaborating to make a song of anxiousness
Your eyes like sunken chasms of a feeling of longing
Your lip quivers like the string of a bow and arrow before you shoot it at the target
The castles you've built within you, the forests that blossomed and the towns of everlasting memories inscribed in your brain
Burn incessantly, ashes flying up to heaven to touch unknown holiness
To touch the clouds in a forbidden romance as if Romeo and Juliet
****** of Vietnam, what once destroyed bustling jungles is destroying my sanity
Burning me from the inside and out, a caged bird inside of me
My soul's last dying wish is to unlock the cage that my fate was sealed in
The skeleton key dangles in front of me hypnotically, drawing me closer to your poison that is disguised as aromatic perfumes
As I took my dying breath, from the smoke of sin rising from my skin, you touched my hand, only to let it slip as I pass into the light
I realized solely one thing: I was your victim, the job was done
I vanish, within your mind, to be consumed by the ruins of time as you move from woman to woman
mbm
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
Mama, where are you?
While you hide in your addictive curtain
Behind the lines of white
Bottles of downed, forgotten memories
Behind the flick of a lighter, lighting up the stick of a left behind American Dream
Mama, where are you?
You walk in a catatonic manner towards an unknown point
Meandering away from your womb-borne responsibilities
Push me, pull me, smack me like a child's doll
But I am no doll, I am your womb-borne responsibility
Yet, you see me as a burden, an unwanted gift, an accident
Mama, where are you?
Daddy doesn't love you
Grammy doesn't love you
Grampy doesn't love you
Auntie doesn't love you
But do you think that addictive curtain does?
Mama, where are you?
As the light of a cigarette burns
As the dust blows into the air
As the bottle tips
The answers you seek are nebulous
Just like mine
mbm
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
From the tops of trees, where there is a bouncing color of green
Is where that one love evolved
From chick to fledgling to adult
Like the opposite of a free bird, that is me
I am a caged bird, singing for that one love
From the dust of old memories, old laughter, old feelings that one brushes away to expose as new
Giving the memories of another to someone else, erasing what is into what was
The curls of black, eyes of brown
I try to donate the forgotten, dusty record of the feelings I once had to another
One with green eyes and curled hair, like you but then not
My eyes look around, seeing a sea of faces in my mind to see yours
As I thought, I forgot
The laughter of a forbidden love, two people with glittering faces of joy
The way I once looked at you remains there, imprinted as "normal"
I try to choose green over brown
But it is a struggle between concealing versus feeling
Why must this be so hard? I ask myself
Within my vessel, I don't know but externally, it is noticed
My desires to tell you versus to conceal due to anxiety
My internal ropes dangle me like a puppet
Telling me how to feel, how to live, how to feel for one person over another
I try to cut the ropes off of me, attempting to save the caged bird within my mouth
The feeble pigeon containing a note of dusty fingers with wings clipped
Clawing at my throat to escape, to be known, to be seen, to be noticed
I soon swallow the caged bird like my pride
Trying to conceal what I shouldn't feel, but failing miserably, yet it somehow works to where you don't notice
mbm
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC