I wanted to look to you like I was dancing
But the bugs on my bark weren't moving enough
I kept reaching skyward and praying for wind
     Never comes to a call, does it?
You could trace each fissure on my surface--why don'chya?--
     Find stories and runnels for flowing sap
Saw me off at the hip, maybe. See what jokes my rings have to tell

I'm tired of waiting for wind; I want to dance (I think?)

I wanted to look to you like I was thoughtful
So I sliced off a sheet of cyan and I robbed the sky
You called me "thief." ******' mean
     Always reaching for silver, aren't we?
Try to touch irises, press pupils. I've never been further than now
     Stories all end, so I'm told. But this one? Still going
Hacked apart, trying to show you my pieces. Chunks. Rough mince

So I stole again to pay the sky back. Ex nihilo, nihil fit
I can pour from empty, because I'm magic, baby!

I wanted to want to see you in Springtime
But we can't scrape Winter off our faces
     Sling me a flat stone that I can send spinning
Slapping across the water's surface
Did I hit the opposite bank? You could stitch together separate days
     if you only had the sinew and a proper needle
Blown apart by wind and explosive expecting. Chunks. Rough mince

I'm tired of waiting for wind. I'm tired of wanting to dance (I think?)
Not magic--well--not the kind that isn't bone and blood and skin
That's the sort of magic that doesn't exist.

I don't think I earned my name
When I was born, my mother sighed
               the second she
           was finished crying
Saturate the atmosphere and mix me in
              with molecules.
Invisible. I'm only air.
At least until I am exhaled.
                   And then?
Carbon monoxide. Waste product.
            Respiratory excreta.

I don't think I want my name.
And, even though I love this place,
                    the fact remains
                    it don't love me
                  and I can't make it...

               They still get bored so fast.
         And I can't tell if I can blame them.
                     But it used to last
                        a little longer.
           Longer strides and clearer eyes.
        Aching less from years' less crying.

Ache with me? I'm begging you.
Stay awhile or call me crazy. Just don't keep me caught
                           on this line.
No more warm or candied lies, no jangling nerve, anxiety
or brutal, ****** truths out hunting.

I know I am not interesting, but mercy on me please.
                   don't leave me yet or tire...
But, no, I am uninteresting--the gravest crime of our day.

I don't think you know my name.

Life is here,
Then it's not,
One small portion of time,
It's all we've got.
You find things you like,
People too,
I found you.
No second chances,
No time to make up lost dances,
Or even a simple second,
To appreciate what you have.
I blinked,
Then October turned to spring,
Easter flowers came just in time this year,
I can only give them 86 more chances,
To reappear.

Grain soaked in salt spray
Yet firm beneath the feet,
Find reasons for best salvation
The second ship scuttled
So, then, stand a third.
         A fourth.

Halted in haploid afterglow
A single heritage, halted ambition.
One path to a keystone past
Tethered to the tossing waves.

In your heart the hardest rains;
a springtime tempest made of weapon-weather

The whale's road you wander,
Searching for slumbering reasons;
I name you "Somnambulist."
Asleep in the dreaming, but weakened awake.

Ghosts and beasts know--both aware of your diploid scheming
Two paths to ******* dreaming
Twin protrusions in fate's firm fist
And deepest waters crash and strike
against smallest frames, the quivering wave oak.

Each one alone among the swan-way's waves.
Same way as in wending through life.
              Just as in dying

people see me as
a million different people
but I am not them
I am me

Black, a color, a race, a people,
Rich in heritage, diverse in soul,
With roots that run deep,
and a spirit that makes whole,
Our history whispers secrets,
of old and untold,
And our voices rise,
in celebration of light.

Black, a culture, a lifestyle, a story,
The only race enriched by melanin.
Home to the greatest kings and queens,
Our lands are rich with earth's elements
and a vast array of nature's creativity.
Mountains, landscapes, valleys,
plateaus, and hills – you name it.

Black, a vibe, an aura, an essence,
A great convergence of life's beauties.
Languages, dresses, and crafts,
Dishes, religion, and rites.
Shining bright with eternal delight
A place of peace, refuge and safety so Divine
Glowing bright with love's pure shine.

Some days my bones feel fractured,
Even where all the bells resonate;
The ravenous bite that indulged
Too deeply – polished by its outlines.

Having faced the forces of nature;
Maybe the element of surprise,
Is not being so surprised at all,
At the relentless cycle of challenges
That perpetually emerge.

Ultimately, we are all merely
Trying to survive.