She wants to be a model and fashion designer,
but is unable to define her value…
He dreams of having his own rock band,
then awakens to the reality
that he cannot play the guitar… yet…
someone should give this boy a pick
to pluck himself off of strings
that stifle creativity
and teach this girl her worth…
have we forgotten our childhood?
playing hide and seek with best friends
and making our mothers set an extra plate for invisible ones
yes
back then it was acceptable to talk to yourself…
but
at some point
we are told thumb-sucking
and make believe
must stop
so comfort is jerked from our mouths
and covered with hot sauce
to keep us from suckling
but old habits die hard
and some addicts put lips to body parts of strangers
instead of to ends of pipes
searching for that same comfort
pretending that it's enjoyment
instead of suffering
oh
how I envy little Doras who are free to explore the limitless boundaries of imagination…
those little boys in blue
looking for clues
still taking the time to
"think... think… thi-i-ink…”
they are kaleidoscope representations of what we used to be
free
to examine color
texture
authority
and sexuality
we have grown up too quickly
with beanstalk expectations
when our seeds of faith
were never properly planted
vine-like insecurities spread tangled webs
that bare bitter fruit
left to sit
like family secrets
and we are drunk off of judgment…
we take two steps forward
just to land on our backs
with legs spread
bracing for self-esteem to enter…
splintered family trees
with rotten roots
fields overrun with weeds
we fertilize our communities
instead of actually tending to the garden…
it in no wonder why some men saw the opportunity to do right
and just left
babies to be raised by women who barely have enough strength left
nodding heads to 50 cent's hood anthem:
"have a baby by me, baby"
be a “baby momma”…
instead of
“raise a family with me, baby”
“I'm gonna be better than my father…”
see, the first step is admitting that there's a problem…
but we are so busy complaining about our situation
too complacent to buck a system that stigmatizes therapy
because they know
mental slavery is far more effective
than any cell
in any jail
or any shackle
on any plantation
so we speak in secrecy…
hiding coded messages of tears and frustration within lines of poetry…
praying that when we hit the stage… you’ll listen…
because this space is where we dig up buried treasure long forgotten in the sandboxes
of our spirits…
hand me a shovel…
help me uncover the person waiting
beneath layers of labels
that have shoved me inside of a box…
and when I am naked…
stripped down to the core of humanity…
that's when things can begin to change…
"that's when we can move"...
Monday, May 31, 2010
*BONUS* 1/30: FreshMen and Foundation
I hate myself for loving him so nakedly…
for so bashfully finding comfort in vulnerability…
muse running flirtatiously through the fields of my mind
and sometimes
I forget that he is human…
that it takes muscle to move mountains of monotony
and slice excavations into his own chest
every time he hits the stage
can you finally see his heart beating?
I was asked, if he didn’t display his soul so vividly
would I even notice him…?
but I’ve had x-ray eye surgery
so consider my vision permanently skewed…
the question is: would you?
would you judge a book by its cover?
masking scars with liquid foundation
because his
was never solid…
applaud his courage to even open his eyes in the morning
because he knows
that even though angels leave invisible lip prints in his slumber
demons with “friend” stitched into their smiles stand patiently by for his demise…
do you notice the glossiness of his eyes?
they are snapshots reflecting fear and racial profiling overcome instinctively
he is the most arrogant humble heart mine ever had the pleasure to beat on one accord with…
acoustic melody in a symphony of silence...
a double shot of espresso raspberry hot cocoa… soothingly elevating to my senses…
with a lionlike mindstate…
and a preacher’s poetic calling…
yet… at night…
he falls to knees like unrepentant harlots…
do you hear him?
sighing saxophone
in a room full of kazoos…
I will send up a prayer for him…
because somewhere
God is far too busy patting Himself on the back
to hear his mute confessions…
But, I hear you, poet…
I hear you…
for so bashfully finding comfort in vulnerability…
muse running flirtatiously through the fields of my mind
and sometimes
I forget that he is human…
that it takes muscle to move mountains of monotony
and slice excavations into his own chest
every time he hits the stage
can you finally see his heart beating?
I was asked, if he didn’t display his soul so vividly
would I even notice him…?
but I’ve had x-ray eye surgery
so consider my vision permanently skewed…
the question is: would you?
would you judge a book by its cover?
masking scars with liquid foundation
because his
was never solid…
applaud his courage to even open his eyes in the morning
because he knows
that even though angels leave invisible lip prints in his slumber
demons with “friend” stitched into their smiles stand patiently by for his demise…
do you notice the glossiness of his eyes?
they are snapshots reflecting fear and racial profiling overcome instinctively
he is the most arrogant humble heart mine ever had the pleasure to beat on one accord with…
acoustic melody in a symphony of silence...
a double shot of espresso raspberry hot cocoa… soothingly elevating to my senses…
with a lionlike mindstate…
and a preacher’s poetic calling…
yet… at night…
he falls to knees like unrepentant harlots…
do you hear him?
sighing saxophone
in a room full of kazoos…
I will send up a prayer for him…
because somewhere
God is far too busy patting Himself on the back
to hear his mute confessions…
But, I hear you, poet…
I hear you…
2/30: Acceptance Speech
As I began to write this, tears filled my eyes like seashore holes greeted by angry waves.
Hold your shovel high.
This award is for you.
I would like to thank the academy for acknowledging my talents.
I have dedicated many days and lonely nights to acting.
Pretending like my stomach wasn’t rumbling.
Hollow.
Remembering our plans to have it filled with our hybrid.
Chest just aching for heart to stop banging against it so quickly.
Throat wondering how spit could feel so heavy.
Yeah, baby…
This award is for you.
For all those times I had metals placed around my neck…
Trophies from hurdled insecurities left to collect dust upon the shelf…
For every ribbon penned on chest and every race won…
You missed it…
But, this is for you…
Even though it seemed you were only interested in people rolex watching me.
Boasting so brashly about my poetic abilities, but never enthusiastically planting your ass in an audience seat.
Begging to read my novel, then not even finishing it.
A paper racehorse with an injury.
You shot bullet holes into my dreams.
Crying on the bathroom floor with far two many pills numbing my senses.
And you walked in, hovered over, did what you had to, then turned to leave.
How could you look into the mirror in that moment and not see a monster?
How could savior and destroyer be one in the same?
Even you had to admit you never expected me to be this talented.
To “handle things this way”.
To not break
When you said my former best friend was pregnant with our baby.
That you couldn’t hate her.
Posting online that you love her.
Days earlier, telling me that you miss me.
Bravo, baby.
I voted you.
Please tell me when reality became a High School Musical?
When did you decide to forget your covenant with God and revert back to 12th grade?
Oh, husband of mine, can you hear the applause now?
We couldn’t script this.
Let’s rip this pulsating dagger from chest.
You can have it.
Here’s my self-esteem!
Grab it!
I don’t need it to build walls.
Let mine rival that of China.
Can’t believe you broke my hymen…
Best Drama…
Best Horror…
Baby, take your pick…
We deserve this moment…
We did it!
Here I stand…
A survivor of loving so Disney Princess-esque.
Let that pride that swells your chest
all peacock featherlike when they call my name
and I take the stage
be a reminder of how hard you have worked to get me here
Thank you…
motherfucka…
This award is for you…
Hold your shovel high.
This award is for you.
I would like to thank the academy for acknowledging my talents.
I have dedicated many days and lonely nights to acting.
Pretending like my stomach wasn’t rumbling.
Hollow.
Remembering our plans to have it filled with our hybrid.
Chest just aching for heart to stop banging against it so quickly.
Throat wondering how spit could feel so heavy.
Yeah, baby…
This award is for you.
For all those times I had metals placed around my neck…
Trophies from hurdled insecurities left to collect dust upon the shelf…
For every ribbon penned on chest and every race won…
You missed it…
But, this is for you…
Even though it seemed you were only interested in people rolex watching me.
Boasting so brashly about my poetic abilities, but never enthusiastically planting your ass in an audience seat.
Begging to read my novel, then not even finishing it.
A paper racehorse with an injury.
You shot bullet holes into my dreams.
Crying on the bathroom floor with far two many pills numbing my senses.
And you walked in, hovered over, did what you had to, then turned to leave.
How could you look into the mirror in that moment and not see a monster?
How could savior and destroyer be one in the same?
Even you had to admit you never expected me to be this talented.
To “handle things this way”.
To not break
When you said my former best friend was pregnant with our baby.
That you couldn’t hate her.
Posting online that you love her.
Days earlier, telling me that you miss me.
Bravo, baby.
I voted you.
Please tell me when reality became a High School Musical?
When did you decide to forget your covenant with God and revert back to 12th grade?
Oh, husband of mine, can you hear the applause now?
We couldn’t script this.
Let’s rip this pulsating dagger from chest.
You can have it.
Here’s my self-esteem!
Grab it!
I don’t need it to build walls.
Let mine rival that of China.
Can’t believe you broke my hymen…
Best Drama…
Best Horror…
Baby, take your pick…
We deserve this moment…
We did it!
Here I stand…
A survivor of loving so Disney Princess-esque.
Let that pride that swells your chest
all peacock featherlike when they call my name
and I take the stage
be a reminder of how hard you have worked to get me here
Thank you…
motherfucka…
This award is for you…
3/30: Blindfolds
When we make love
Eyes
tightly sealed
Heart
hummingbird wing flutters
Legs
tremble recklessly
Hands
grip at wrinkled sheets
Lip
indented by top of teeth
on the edge of insanity
trying to remember to breathe
don’t kiss me
thrust deeper
reverse cowgirl
head titled back
rising…
falling…
dripping…
praying…
moaning confirmations
vocal hesitation
fighting to focus
shrouded in darkness
please, don’t speak
I am trying to pretend you are him…
Eyes
tightly sealed
Heart
hummingbird wing flutters
Legs
tremble recklessly
Hands
grip at wrinkled sheets
Lip
indented by top of teeth
on the edge of insanity
trying to remember to breathe
don’t kiss me
thrust deeper
reverse cowgirl
head titled back
rising…
falling…
dripping…
praying…
moaning confirmations
vocal hesitation
fighting to focus
shrouded in darkness
please, don’t speak
I am trying to pretend you are him…
4/30: To Self...
Dear Jenise,
I am sorry for not loving you enough
For letting other people dictate your definition
For dressing you up in make-up and high heels
When I know how much you hate costumes
Forgive me
For allowing people to butcher you
With Gs and As
And accepting it
I have forgotten how to pronounce you
You sound
More foreign to my ears than Cambodian language
I have taken you for granted...
I am sorry for not loving you enough
For letting other people dictate your definition
For dressing you up in make-up and high heels
When I know how much you hate costumes
Forgive me
For allowing people to butcher you
With Gs and As
And accepting it
I have forgotten how to pronounce you
You sound
More foreign to my ears than Cambodian language
I have taken you for granted...
5/30: Currency
Penny for your thoughts…
Nickel for your observations…
Dime for your self-worth…
Dollar for your dreams…
A quarter
Slid into the silver box of your soul
Your mind is a jukebox
Let that shit play
Journey through stacks
Of long lost melodies
That used to rock you to sleep
Like climax retreats
Remember
Remember when we used to sing
When we would greet the sun
Before the birds even had a chance
To do vocal exercises
We used to exercise
Cords
Tongues
Teeth
Lips
Whispers and whistles
To remind us
Of home
Let’s return home
To latchkey memories
Christmases with no chimneys
Easter baskets
And Sunday shoes
Rhythm and blues
Blues and whites
Of skies
Neverending stories
Daring us to reach for stars
We used to glimmer
And glisten
Crystal clear
Like oceans
Bottles of tomorrow
Drifting lazily
Balloons released into the breeze
Like harmonies
Carried through neighbor’s windows
On Saturday mornings
But somewhere
At some point
Our records stopped spinning
Or skipped
Caught
On haunting melodies
Repeating negativities
“You are worthless”
“You are worthless”
“You are worthless”
Put hip to wood
Bump that shit
Slip another quarter
Into your soul
And let the soundtrack
To your life
Continue…
Nickel for your observations…
Dime for your self-worth…
Dollar for your dreams…
A quarter
Slid into the silver box of your soul
Your mind is a jukebox
Let that shit play
Journey through stacks
Of long lost melodies
That used to rock you to sleep
Like climax retreats
Remember
Remember when we used to sing
When we would greet the sun
Before the birds even had a chance
To do vocal exercises
We used to exercise
Cords
Tongues
Teeth
Lips
Whispers and whistles
To remind us
Of home
Let’s return home
To latchkey memories
Christmases with no chimneys
Easter baskets
And Sunday shoes
Rhythm and blues
Blues and whites
Of skies
Neverending stories
Daring us to reach for stars
We used to glimmer
And glisten
Crystal clear
Like oceans
Bottles of tomorrow
Drifting lazily
Balloons released into the breeze
Like harmonies
Carried through neighbor’s windows
On Saturday mornings
But somewhere
At some point
Our records stopped spinning
Or skipped
Caught
On haunting melodies
Repeating negativities
“You are worthless”
“You are worthless”
“You are worthless”
Put hip to wood
Bump that shit
Slip another quarter
Into your soul
And let the soundtrack
To your life
Continue…
6/30: TripleL-H Syndrome
I have this condition
that causes me
to make victims
of women
who don’t deserve
rusty razor blades
of my thoughts
to carve their names
leaving
clover-colored scars
on my heart
I have always hated you…
with an Ike and Tina addiction
and bruises
that tell stories
of battles
with my confidence
catapult
self-esteem into the sky
then burst into a room
and snap my wings
mid-flight
you remind me
of stop sign
to my marriage…
walk
as if you were born
two doors down
from privilege
smell
the sweet scent
of sibling rivalry
taste
like a pill
too bitter
to swallow
I am running out of options
and no "licensed professional"
has been able to help me
someone
please
find a cure
for those of us suffering
from Light-skinned Light-eyed Long-haired Heffa Syndrome…
that causes me
to make victims
of women
who don’t deserve
rusty razor blades
of my thoughts
to carve their names
leaving
clover-colored scars
on my heart
I have always hated you…
with an Ike and Tina addiction
and bruises
that tell stories
of battles
with my confidence
catapult
self-esteem into the sky
then burst into a room
and snap my wings
mid-flight
you remind me
of stop sign
to my marriage…
walk
as if you were born
two doors down
from privilege
smell
the sweet scent
of sibling rivalry
taste
like a pill
too bitter
to swallow
I am running out of options
and no "licensed professional"
has been able to help me
someone
please
find a cure
for those of us suffering
from Light-skinned Light-eyed Long-haired Heffa Syndrome…
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