Brown Skin Lady (Keep Ya Head Up)

1 Comment

(Editor’s Note: I didn’t intend it, but I do notice that I wrote this on the anniversary of Tupac’s death. Rest in peace, Brother Shakur.)

Some say, “The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.”
Some say, “The darker the flesh, the deeper the rooted insecurity.”

Babygirl, you’re beautiful.
Fuck every backhanded modifying phrase.
“For a dark-skinned girl”
You are beautiful by all standards.
Don’t you dare frown at the sight of your dermis.
Beauty is more than skin deep
Yours is amplified by your surface.

Darling, there is no reason for you to feel slighted.
Stop holding up the paper bag to your cheek.
Do not apply the adage, “less is more” to your melanin.
Let your skin bask in the earth.
You’re not turning manure into fertilizer
Because your complexion is not something society should shit on and taint its worth.

This gorgeous race of people should not be treated like bananas.
Dark brown and yellow alike,
Each shade is just as ripe as another on the spectrum.
Let’s stop trying to pick a best one.

Babygirl,
You’re wearing the hell out of that brown.
It looks amazing on you. Be proud.
Your glow is crazy. It seems to never let up.
Please, don’t look down.
You got to keep your head up.

Pain Relief

Leave a comment

As I sit and load the chamber
I begin a round of “Would You Rather?”
And the conclusion I came to,
Without any reasonable doubts,
Is to die enormous instead of living dormant.
Too scared to watch closely
Too excited to close them.
So I keep one open like the end of the barrel.
The one on the sparrow
Watches as His child attempts to rid himself of torment.

I must forfeit this memory game, because
Remembering is healing, but it’s numbing to forget.
That’s why I’ve loaded these hollow-pointed aspirin
Codiene to relieve my head from all of this.
This isn’t the easy way out if you don’t know how hard it’s been.
I know I said I would never give up.  
Well, I’m human, right?
I’m flawed.
I apologize for the fib.

Here lies a man,
Playing God by taking my mortality in my hands.
Become He Whom Is Perfect and correct His mistake.
This existence failed and I’m going to create anew.
Suicide is beautiful when the life you had was already killing you.
Since I’ve taken some of His omnipotence,
Even if karma declares this is the wrong thing to do,
I can give myself divine forgiveness.
They say the Universe began with a Big Bang.
Well, I figure,
Once I pull the trigger,
I can close the book on this revelation and write my perfect beginning
Genesis 1:2-3
For the world was of darkness and empty.
And God said, “Let there be light.”

Untitled (Cosmos)

Leave a comment

Where is Polaris to he who carries constellations on his shoulders?
He who supports light years away
But since they’re within eyesight, they matter.
Help me find relief in the cosmos.
I need a place to rest
But I refuse, because
Putting the Universe down means picking it back up.
I’m not strong enough for repetition,
Nor do I practice exercises in futility.
Gods don’t have spotters.

A Poem To A Poem

1 Comment

For the longest time,
The idea of you ranked pretty highly on my list of fears:
Just above losing my wallet in public,
And right under not being a good father.

I believed that whatever sins committed against women in the past
Would be manifested in you.
If so, then I have never seen iniquity look so beautiful before.
Maybe those women forgave me simultaneously, and begged karma to put my account in good standing.

But you
The exhales between my poems,
I apologize for judging your life based on mine.
And pardon me for having the audacity to think I could have a preference of my blessing.
All the nonsense of knowing I could better raise a male child
Vanished when I held you the first time.
I should know better because you are a poem.
I have no control over what comes out when I decide to write.

My selfishness used to keep me from the idea of you.
Insisting scheme on prose, determining your meter before I met you.
And while I don’t have any way of forcing you to follow my rules.
I just have a few things I ask you to do:
One. Grow up to be like your mother.
I guarantee she’ll be smarter than and more gorgeous than me.
Two. Never get tired of my hugs.
It’s not often I get to touch my poetry and meet its gaze.
Three. Memorize this poem.
That one is the easiest since you wrote it.

A Year Later…

1 Comment

Hey.
Umm.
I don’t know where to start.
You were the first person to depart that I cared enough to be sad over.
Not that others who passed didn’t matter.
But now that I’m older,
I guess death took advantage of my heart’s growing fragility and broke it.

I miss you.
Worrying about someone who will not return is new
My heart hadn’t shored up that flank of its defenses.
I was going to let you rest in peace
I need to borrow some of yours while mine is still weak.
You know I’m always the one with clear answers.
But speaking to you has my thoughts scattered.
Everything around me is spinning
I’m afraid to put the solar system down
But I don’t know how else to handle my sanity.

It’s not supposed to be simple
The best things in life are the good things we’ve worked for.
But where does it say that those are the same ideals that we have to hurt for?

Your journey home alerted me on how much I wasted,
The better life I could be creating,
And the uncertainty of how much time I have to make it.
Life is an unknown term in prison.
Since I don’t know where I am in this sentence
I need to add better words
Before it ends with a question mark at the end of these phrases.

It’s Not Her Fault

Leave a comment

I fucked her into a spasm
Insert and thrust into agape mouths gasping from earthquakes in her chasm
Rivers flowed in crevices, creating canyons.
I get so deep, she couldn’t even fathom that I could give her multiple releases.
Yet she can’t move me to my own orgasm.

It’s not her fault.
She gives her all.
But.
I don’t want to be responsible for what comes.
I do my best to keep sex and love separate,
My fear of commitment resides in my erection.
I give and give and dig and dig,
Then escape before there is any misconception.

She needs my seed to become pregnant.
And I’m not going to help birth anything if I don’t feel connected
Since I’m not that invested,
I won’t risk any spawn being planted
Then have to convince her to abort the love child she thought we were having.

Throw something on walls and it may stick.
But I’m tryin to give her dick to be remembered
Then quit before it ejaculates to my surprise.
I don’t even want to pull out, and it end up on her face.
Let alone, have any remains of me splashing against her insides.

Insecurity is a powerful contraceptive.
Doubts made of rubber
Concealed in plastic packaging marked “You Can’t Love Her” for protection.
But I take no chances,
As strong as the feeling is when climaxing.
I can’t handle that obligation to my lover.

Puzzle Pieces

Leave a comment

We were working on a puzzle.
The two of us coming together for a common goal
But the piece we each held in our hands didn’t bring closer to whole.
And for the time being, we were satisfied with being close enough.

We aren’t “broken up”
We’re individually still intact,
Though our pieces never fit exact.
Too much time spent jammed together because we loved the activity
Nearly ruined us for when we are able to finish it.
Like most people
We were so focused in our belief this would work,
We didn’t see the bigger picture

Let’s continue digging for our matches.
learning from the mistake, never forgetting the time were were connected.
I don’t regret that it happened because we didn’t end up damaged.
But I know that with a puzzle, the fit has to be perfect
No how matter how much we almost had it.

Older Entries