i.am.spoken.word.

Golddiggers, escorts, and one night stands

Have a more keen understanding than you and I.

You think me to be a conundrum

But, my desires are simple.

Essentially.

Only complicated

By the way your brow

Grows beads of sweat

Whenever my arms linger their rest

On your shoulders

For a second longer.

Confusion sets in on the rare occasions

that your purpose in my bed

resembles resting.

You think that I am needy and

You call this simply casual.

But I always wear my finest for you.

Love,

I toil too often for this to be fleeting:.

It is quite the task

Coaxing my heart out of hiding.

I’m here, convincing my instincts that you will do me no harm.

Yet,

You still hesitate;

Penalizing me for accepting your outstretched hand.

And

You reach out to me often.

So much so that I concentrate only on

Making my hand fit for yours.

…just in case…

You are not quite romantic

In the way that you make me

Laugh at my own clumsy attempts

To be sexy.

Or the time you kicked over candles

Near the bed;

Almost setting our bedroom on fire.

You are not quite chivalrous

In the way that you let me whine

About traditional gender roles,

Meanwhile fretting over being a good cook.

You smile and sneak bitters into my sweet tea

When I shoo you out of the kitchen.

You are not quite heroic

In the way that you are unafraid

To cry on my shoulder

In moments of grief, disappointment, and anger

Yet,

You ensure your arms

Are stout enough to hold me together

When I need you.

I fret over pant size

like women tend to do

Obsessing over numbers and

which clothing material can stretch

far enough

to cover up my fear of lingering gazes.

I slump further into my muffin top

Sucked in and tucked

Meanwhile my posture disappears 

the arch of my back inverted.

I want to retreat into myself

So I am only left with the candid snapshot

of the ideal me:

Ignored and secretly glad

Because it all began when boys

ran past me whispering blunt observations 

concerning my budding figure.

Some comments obscene and others in jest

Both pulled me from the grey area of childlike gender roles;

Far removed from the simplicities found in cooties and boys only clubs.

I became acquainted with myself through their overheard conversations;

I saw me only in the blurred reflections of mirrors 

in the girl’s bathroom where I rarely looked.

I wanted to conceal myself underneath 

my favorite oversized T-shirt of my brother’s

and the overgrown bangs used to cover up my cheekbones.

I had seen what it meant to become the object

behind a boy’s hollow stare

and

I did not like it.

So I sought to rest underground

just beneath their desire and misguided affections

the possibility of their ridicule and acclaim

away from the opportunity to be wanted today;

despised and disposed of later.

But now

I still feel shy looking at my own reflection

Preferring to search for a flaw

That never ceases to reveal itself.

Always present,

it keeps my hands occupied

(with counting pounds and dress sizes)

so that my arms are too busy

to care

to caress and

to hold myself up,

for once.

A Know-it-all on Love,

But are struck dumb

When you consider

Me & this heart of mine.

Even with your excess amount

Of hindsight

There’s not enough knowledge

To accumulate,

Not a fraction of an epiphany

Leftover

To help you understand

Why you held your love

At arm’s length from me.

I’d hinted at my extraordinary

But you held a palm in front

Of your face to shield

All the extra

With squinted eyes

You cast a shadow

Across me and this heart of mine.

Dim-witted lover,

You dodged my budding paradise

Quickly waded across the cool of my Nile

Strapped with fisherman’s overalls,

And scoffed at an invite to view the earth from

Outerspace.

Now,

You are up to your widow’s peak

In regret

Wallowing in a sea of your own

Defecating promises and

Rotting prototypes;

Failed attempts at duplicating

Me and this heart of mine.

onlymi:

Doing everything I can just to stay mentally afloat,

nose above the water is enough, no strength to build no boat.

Keep going is my mantra

I won’t crumble is my oath…

Write little serenades to keep my heart alive,

fuel within each note

I smile when I am saddened,

I laugh when I am weak…

My. God.

I always

Feel like second choice

Second best

Sensible and true

Left on the back burner 

where grown-up decisions 

are left to cool.

Until I am

Snatched

From the fine line where I stood on tiptoes

Wedged between

Your godliness and an ultimatum.

I always

Feel like my love is an

Entrapment

Like bastard fetuses

To ball players

My hand out for a ring

My heart out for your hand

My heart always went out to you

So you owed me in return

Right?

Your remorse resembled repentance

But your requited love served as penance

Not so much a prison sentence

But a simple decision

To love me for

Principle’s sake.

So I always feel like

I am a poster child for your good deeds

Your shout of triumph from a mountaintop

Your metaphoric pat on the back

Maybe now your father

Will tell you he’s proud.

Being on your arm,

I will serve as the perfect ornament

A sufficient emblem

To show them all.

I always feel like

You need me to stay

To convince you of grace

Tangible.

Bleeding.

I always feel for you

Emphatically and dear

And now I need you

I need your tangible

I need your always

Your first glance

Your love before it becomes sensible

I want your one-night stand afterglow

Your senseless declaration and reckless abandon

I want anything and everything left that you’re maybe holding on reserve

For her.

Inspired by a series of FB statuses I’ve post since last year, it consists of brief letters/quotes/inspirations addressed to the Beloved of God.

That means you…

I am not a sad poet.

Or an ironic poet.

I simply believe in

Sorrow as much as joy.

They walk hand in hand,

Usually.

Both dwelling in me.

While one is busy

Cooking at my stove,

The other is sleeping on a cot in the back room.

My heart houses many emotions;

I have lots of mouths to feed.

So, don’t try and wrap your mind

Around the temperament

Of my poetry

Or my style

My tone

And my themes

Break down those boxes

That you’ll carry my poems away in

Rather reach out your hands

Or open wide your arms

Tilt your head upwards

Or cower away

It will depend, you know…

I am not a sad poet.

Or a religious poet or philosophical poet.

There are no qualifiers here.

Be free.

I am.

I felt as if I were born for you.

Just.

For you.

Your pain and longing had an affair

For years

And one day,

Your longing birthed my existence.

My first cry

was an answer to prayer.

You needed me.

From then on

Every purpose I found on the side of the road

Became lukewarm the moment I touched it

I was raised to be as passionate about your happiness

As you are.

Even your sacrifices,

Normal in motherhood,

Came with tiny price tags attached.

It’s costly being your daughter.

You almost cost me, me.

Wisdom taught me your selfishness

Was the only naïve part left in you.

And that you’d do anything,

Including cast me your last breath,

So that I could live a second longer than you would.

I know this.

Even now,

I’d do anything to make you smile.

Wear my hair in that way you like

Mimic all your mannerisms

And take all of your hand-me-downs

Because seeing me in your old pencil skirt

Reminds you of when I stumbled around in your

Heels and pearls as a little girl.

It must be hard seeing my breasts fit well inside your shirts now.

It must be hard letting go…

I would do anything for you.

Including being the best me possible.

Awaken your pride

By reminding you that it’s because of you

That I am alive.

Because that’s true.

I am my mother’s daughter,

You see.

I cannot be me without her.

So many sad hearts

Travel past

Some hurrying

Giving a quick glance at their expensive watches

Others slowly wandering, kicking pebbles

With bare feet.

All going nowhere, maybe.

Broken ones dressed as passersby

Walking,

They notice me.

Look into my small room

With a small lamp

Shining through a small window

The light isn’t much…

Some linger and study the smile

I cast out to each of them;

The brightest and most genuine part of me,

All I have.

Many come inside to stay awhile

To sit on floor pillows, warm their cold hands,

And wait out any storms that may be passing through.

The small lamp is usually a topic

Of their choosing;

It’s gentle light causes our shadows to dance across the walls.

And when it’s time

We stand and I shake their hand;

Noticeably warmer now.

I am sad

Momentarily

Until I see them pass by my small window

Like before

And they turn to smile in my direction

For a moment.

I.

I ask for answers

Beg for understanding

And

Weep in confusion

At the state of these things

Our past

The three of us

Each with our own rotations of

Entrances and exits

We orbited around one another

Especially her and I

To you

From friendship, past its line,

And into the

Dull, grey area that follows it

Even past forgiveness’ healing balm

And time’s forgiving numbness

Still

I need something from you

And her

What you cannot produce

One question:

Why?

II.

Many will not grant you space

To still be here

Room

Where your Benefit of the Doubt

Can dwell nestled beside your memories

Some good, some bad

But yours still

They’d rather crowd you out

Cheer on our love to drown out

Your whispers

But I can still hear you

Here.

This is your spotlight

Your claim to our story

But many will rather

Your chapter be rewritten into a lesson learned

That you would be forgotten

Increasingly fading like childhood knee scrapes

Somehow I cannot seem to forget

Because I feel like I need you

To confirm I did not hurt you

No matter how badly you hurt me

Leave me no room for doubt

I need your conclusions and your business to be finished here

Before you go your way

You were sent away on a whim without resolution

Resolve your feelings here

In the open air and with light shining on all the places

Where he kissed you

My Christian conscience keeps me awake at night

Despite the expletives my female intuition

Coolly utters

They tell me you deserve indifference

But when I remember your heart pumps

In similar fashion to mine

I know you bleed, moan, cuss, and weep

Same as I.

III.

My beloved

I would endure scraped wrists

And kneecaps

Bloodied by distance and human flaws

For you

Crawl my way

Through the visuals of you and her

Past the anger and my desire to

Rise up from this place

Without you

Hand my last goodbye to you

With a trembling hand

I dared my heart over and over

To stay

That this battleground ended

Soon enough

And that we’d spend our days

Resting on mountaintops

But

Somehow on days when you are especially silent

And the stench of your guilt seeps

Through the floors cracks

 I still put up fists

At my reflection

Battle my thoughts

I still fight for you

I still fight me for you.

His Glory cannot be bound

By light.

For He has met with me

Within the shadows.

His comfort extended to me

Underneath

The horizon

Where the sun and ground meet.

Low.

My God is not limited

To cathedral ceilings and murals

Because somehow

He finds me

In the abandoned alleyways of my mind

Or wherever I am hiding.

How can a being that is equivalent

To Perfection that I cannot conceive

And a Worth I could not save up for in a billion lifetimes,

See me

Know me

And Love me still?

How can we conceal this love,

And place it just above one another’s reach?

Honestly,

Which of us truly

Deserve Him?

I

Dumbed down to fit into perfectly developed chains,

I move and shook perfectly.

Gladly caught in your sights

With enough safe distance away from each other’s souls.

Mindless pleasure & harmless fun.

You feasted your eyes, lips, and hands

Until I no longer belonged to me.

You asked me

for the hundreth time

to show a little something 

shake a little something

On musical tracks so repetitive

they’re demoted to a pile of broken records.

Dusty from your played out anthems and

archaic hooks 

Your baseline stops as soon as club lights turn on.

And the silence begs the ultimate question.

So, no thanks

I’d rather not have pole work & body “tweark” 

Be what brings me accolades.

I will not grimace underneath the sun’s gleam

only to come alive from a stage’s dimmed light.

See me, truly 

and love me out in the open.

I’m not your secret or 

nameless, faceless escape.

I said once that I’d follow you

Move in unison with your footprints

but lead me somewhere

worth going.

Take me somewhere I’ve never been

Where a limo and video appearence

cannot reach.

Give me wealth 

That surpasses

A Black Card’s credit limit.

I will not move 

or shake

or drop

for you. 

My heartbeat’s more valuable

than your baseline.

Check out my melody…

We are

hot tea on

warm summer nights

Odd but soothing

At second glance people stop,

smile and conclude:

Yeah, that actually works.

I.
Poetry besides
You are insightful.
Able to fashion words into thoughts
So unassuming, and yet brilliant.
I laugh at how childlike
Your hands are with which you
Grasp truth.
Allowing doubt to slowly slip through
Your fingers.

II.
Poetry besides
You are intensely creative.
A mind keen on scenic routes
And the mad romance of art.
You despise popular culture
But you smirk at hipster glasses
And can’t seem to fit in at
The coffee shops you love so much.
Besides…you’d much rather prefer a street corner
To a platform or pedestal
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder
With average men
Swapping anecdotes and stories
Like parables in plain clothes.

III.
Poetry besides
You are loving.
Warm, sensitive, and giving heartbeat
Protected beneath a lion’s breastplate.
Your blood, breath, and glasses work together
So that you may keep watchful eyes
Over those cast down and guarded.
They are the highest mandate you carry.
Which is why your dreams
Cycle through scenes of heroism.
You were created to take part in a rescue mission.
The ransomed one
Now a rescuer.

He takes all my broken pieces

from

dreams

my heart

and trust.

With hands that possess

delicacy and wisdom.

Unlike those that shake from fear of failure

or quickened by urgency.

He knows full well what I am to be

and when I am to become it

Because the last thing He wants to do is hurt me.

look in my direction
linger there for a moment
give me your eyes’ shine.
and slowly perk cheekbones
let your lips part
while their corners
reach for the heavens,

show me you’re delighted…
…love,
smile for me.

It has been a long time

Since I felt the smoothness

Of my own pages

They lay clean ‘til the point of sterility

But I wish to make them

Filthy with my thoughts

Unkempt and viral

Giving no priority to my reputation

Of being a great writer

I want to wallow in my naivety

And the ideal world I paint with my ink pen

It has been a while

Since I’ve written with abandonment

Gotten lost on purpose

Leaving no bread crumbs

And casting no anchor to

Keep me from drifting

Down rabbit trails

I want to write

A poem within a poem

Create a literary inception

So to speak.

Because I used to do it regularly

Ventured into unnamed territories of my mind

And gawked in astonishment

At what I am capable of.

I want to impress myself

For once and

Sit long enough to complete a

Whole entire stanza

I’m still not sure

What the end of my poem looks like…

#KONY2012