tattoo time

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Another Tattoo

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God Like.

Have you ever sat on the hood of your Mercedes C Class
and looked out through the gates of your private backyard
and wonder how everything came to be…. Yeah me neither,
but I do wonder how one being could create everything I see
and himself not needing to be created because he was already here.
You know as I say that out loud my confusion is only gotten deeper.
How would we treat God as if he was just one of us?
That’s like coming up to a poet and telling them that
you love their work and giving them a low score.
You can’t tell a master how to create masterpieces.
What if Joan Osborn song was just a gate way
into seeing our architect more human than the bible leads us to believe.
What if God was a him, picking and choosing which
Woman he was going to conquer each day.
Would he be that player in wait?
Would he usher in a new generation of gangsters or saints?
Would he be an international rock star or a struggling poet?
Traveling the world to sow seeds of hope and wisdom,
while he is trying to figure out how he is going to feed his starving seeds.
What if God took on the task to be a she.
Would she be seen as a prostitute or a Queen?
Would she stop aborting her babies and start
a new army of angels who didn’t get their wings clipped too soon.
Would she marry for love or money or
would she find comfort in another woman and
live life with her own kind?
What if God was your Mother?
Would you call her every day,
would you listen when she told you not to stay out too late?
Would you finally be able to let go,
tell her your fears and your sorrows.
What if God was your Dad.
He came to everyone of your basketball games and was the loudest in the stands.
What if, he was the man that first taught you how to smile,
was the hand you held when you walked down the aisle
and was the first to hold his grandchild.
What if he was your brother or sister?
Would you still take her diary at eight,
would you still kick Toya’s ass for calling him out his name?
What if you accepted God for who he is?
For the one that carved mountaintops with finger tips,
Destroyed cities because of ignorance,
Flood the world to save humanity,
Sacrifice his son to save…. You and me.
Would to accept him as your savior, father, mother, brother, sister, or friend?
How different the world would be if we would just let God be God’s
Because I am sure that he can do him a little better than we can
And if we could just stop trying to solve all the world problem in one lifetime
Let the creator lead and the created follow…
life would be too hard to see through the stars.

HA Ha

The next tattoo

משורר; פיטן
Poet.

Just me and Jon

The College dropout missed the late registration
which encumbered his matriculation, maturation, graduation
Which left his heart beat breakin'
like an 808 over the snare there's the bass then
The kick drum
They kicked him
out West
so he could manifest
his destiny
it's best that he
confess the need
to love his worst and best cause see
his vespers be like restless seeds
In need of Marys breasts to rest and feed
Showing that dark shades can’t shield his needs.
Countless women can’t heal
the feelings that he has left on his sleeves.
I feel bad for him,
cause all the money in the world
can’t bring his mother back to him.
I have tried crying for him
But eyes wide shut don’t produce to many tears
And over the years he has created this charter
That many can penetrate, his addition has left him in such a crack music state.
And black music states
that the Blueprint to these Life and Times
aretrifling rhymes,
leavin
you with Reasonable Doubt
About our ability to reason
which leaves white folk feeling
we're just agility and jumping
hov'ing and heaving
American Gangsters is the Dynasty
and legacy we're conceding
Until Kingdom Come
and the Black Album shows
that we been Kings and Queens
Longer than we been ho's and heathens
Harlots carrying around forbidden semen.
Judas and Brutus with backstabbing seasons.
We will be more than stars.
More than our fancy car,
house that we can’t pay the taxes fo’
I know that we are trying to live better than the average men.
Holding out open hands, for the white man can carry on his scam.
We try to do better, cleaning off dirty faces with soiled towels
We will never cut the lines from family.
We will never be comfortable hanging from the trees from our future seeds.
It Was Written I am God's son
so the future needs
Us to start believing
And stand Firm. The summer breeze and
Winds and change seem to lead
to better thangs
We gone need the Street Disciple to fight
just as much as we might
need the preacher to preach and the choir to sang
On the streets of Decatur I acquired the slang
and you don't have to be Nostradamus to see the fire and rain
they say Hip Hop is Dead but they a liar I bring
Lazarus out the tomb so I know I can exhume
the corpse, bring a hearse, breath a verse
that will reverse the curse until the N Word is retired for kings
and queens who live beyond their means.
Trying to reach for the finer things but
Coming back with scandalous things
Scandalous beings who can care less about
Changing things but have become our
ancestors nightmares at best
causing their rest to be disturbed
by the new beat that we drum too.
You see I am guilty of being swayed by the Devil’s hands
His claps have been the cause of my hips moving and
My common sense losing.
Common Sense is not so common
because life has gotten so confusing
an Electric Circus where you work with
Clowns the smile through their frowns
with no idea of what they're doing
but One Day it'll all Make Sense
the presence of the Renaissance Resurrection
Is always looming
I think we've all been assuming that it all has been for profit
it's like selling Water for Chocolate
it's hard to Borrow a Dollar when Creflo won't let go
it seems like even the prophets have turned the sanctuary into a market
I seek sanctuary so stop it, see
I'm looking for a space to park it and just Be me
A place where I can free my mind body and soul
I'm Finding that Forever it's been Universal Mind Control.

Me and John on love

Slowly take me in,
make way in the spaces between rib cages
and let me rest a little while.
I have been your love child for a while
and I just need to rest for a while.
I seek nothing but solitude in your chest cavity
Marry me so that our love will have validity.
Let our heartbeats not beat in vain,
But to sustain each other.
Like rain we oughta
renew one another
I knew not another
would touch me
Once I touched you last summer
you look through me
I look at you eighth wonder
as I lay and ponder
the ocean in your gaze
and pray the waves
take me under
drowning me in long forgotten sorrows so that your
pain can remind me how good it fees to love again.
To heal again, I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.
Happy to just hear the phone again.
Happy to say that I have a man.
My feminist gene sighs at me
Because all I can think about is how to make your life better.
How to make your role as Strong Black Man
in our love story not be so demanding.
Maybe it's me that's too demanding
maybe I'm bold like my father
and you too understanding
or never satisfied like my mother
Doves cry, their wings flutter
ever so lightly for the landing
I lay nightly with your hand in
my hand
I'm in a constant state of debate, prayer and planning
I wake and can't wait to smell your hair
and hear you dreams
and understand that I'll stand in
between your pillow and your tears
in case the scene turns nightmare
I was wrong once but please know I'm right here
right where
we belong
Where angels still sing our sweet song.
Heaven is envious of us.
Man wants to document us
So the patterns of love will follow us.
You and me, paired together through history’s time line as the
point of reference where everything was beautiful.
We wear full circles on lifeline fingers to tell the story
Of how star cross lover created consolations of be in love with
Hearts not just bodies.
We have been chosen to be the example to this
Real world how to leave in this surreal life and
Be Survivors.
And there are few others besides us
because our Flava
gives us a Real Chance at Love
And oh how I'd love
To Run way from the Projects
away from the past and past hurtful objects
and live the life of love and laughs the story books told
You're the Gibraltar Rock of Love
and there's no Rules on this Road
And truth be told… heartbreak was getting old
So I am glad you came to piece me back together.
Seal cracks that were left to be open scars
And you never ran from me
My open wounds never scared thee
You just placed my palm in your side and said heal me.
And I try to be your glue, filling kisses with Elmer.
Clear yet blue, because that’s our favorite color.
I let you sleep inside me because you said that
You feel safe there and for that time I feel blessed to be
Your womb carrying warrior.
Ready to die on the front lines for our house to stay a home.
You crown our seeds with royalty so that they remember where they came from.

Me and John Goode being very Random

He's your average Knee-ga-roe
he come through playing that Jigga high
acting like a gigolo
Sleeping in easy beds.
The cornerstone of his income are married woman,
Who have men that can’t please them.
Can't tease em right, can't eat em right
can't join em so they beat em might
kill em instead of treat em right
so they find the arms of another, just for a night.
She calls him daddy, he calls her whatever she likes.
He should feel bad, but someone has to love them.
Someone has to want em
Even if that someone is someone elses someone
But some come and some go
Even though some are dumb, some know
that he may never leave her ass
but every night he goes out searching for greener grass
Pastures that can remember where home is.
Knowing where a home is not just 4 walls and a roof,
But where your heart lives.
Where your art lives.
The King and Queen begot kids
But she can be the king of the castle
If he abdicates the throne
then the home is not his
or hers and in this game all loses.
She chooses a pipe dream fantasy,
While he’s glued into Girls gone wild 3.
And flavor of love on VH-1 & MTV
but he can't savor the love
of the one who like the savior
would die for his love
regardless of his sins and behavior
and he would rather save himself
than save her, reaching at his side
to feel his broken rib with no one
by his side to heal him.
Can you feel him
can you see him a little clearer
often time the man on the corner
is the man in the mirror
before we reach the coroner
we're all going to have to hear the
voice or reason
because you're the parliament and the proletariat
and lately you've been committing treason.
Being the reason why women clinch purse to chest.
Smoothing over dresses that have been wrinkled by the hands of times.
Fight a war we are destined to lose, because uniting to not fall didn’t hold true.

Another KORIM production

Cold summer's rain
Madness
seeking purity when
man
made prophets can't hold clarity in
hands
wrapped around jagged edges
melting
Mormon minds into thinking
ones
self is compared to unreachable
heights
building that have not been seen
through
corners of mental instability when cold summer's rain.

Haiku Time

I'm not a baby,

unless that's what you call me,

make love to me, B.

Sleep

“Sleep, sleep my baby”
“Sleep, sleep my baby”
“Sleep until your crowned KING”
“Sleep, sleep my baby”
Is the song that she whispers to
her baby while he is still in her belly.
Vowing that this time she was going to do things right.
No more will she stamp her seeds, return to sender,
But remember that she was born to be a mother.
She sings a little louder to
drown out the voices of doubt.
Sponge dry, needing the
kisses from her prince in waiting to
Sooth her troubled mind.
She remembers how good it feels to love again.
Since she the day she found out that her life was making way for another.
She had nothing but questions.
She wonders what his voice will sound like,
Wonders if the timber
will be more like his father’s or mother’s
Wonders if his laughs will be loud or silent
Wonders if he will sing tenor to be her harmony
Wonders if he will be a poet,
because he has wrote some of the most
beautiful verses in her womb.
She wonders if all her dreaming will be in vain,
She doesn’t want him to become a statistic and
she is left crying at his grave
Or will he defy the odds,
look his stereotype in the face and say
“no, not today. I have dreams I have to pay off and
have no time to wait”
She prays that he will find God before it is too late.
Hopes that her sins will not mess up his clean slate.
Hope that he will be better than her.
Be able to crossover color lines and be able to touch
people’s souls and minds.
She carved is in her skin that she was sent
to not raise a mere man but a king.
Ruling this world with purpose and kindness.
She will teach him how to slay men with pens.
Teach him that his limit is the sky and
tell him not to stop until he is on cloud nine.
Show him love is always better shown than told.
Tell him to remember the
songs that they made together.
She will tell him that she is a better woman
because she was his mother.
She will be strong and confident
Scared and brave.
She will call him warrior and he will crown her Queen.
So until he can take his rightful place
on his earthly thrown.
She will sing:
“Sleep, sleep my baby”
“Sleep, sleep my baby”
“Sleep until your crowned KING”
“Sleep, sleep my baby”
Until you’re ready to change the world.

Thought for the holiday...

Say hello to the you of who you are.
Say goodbye to the you of who you thought you were.
Love your imperfections because they make you beautiful.
Hate your perfections because they make you human.
Embrace your pen because your God's perfect poem.
Know that I would let death take me because life without
you would not be living....peace

I am thankful for....

.... not having to be with blood to call it home.
....finding my voice in poetry again.
... knowing that I have more people that love me than hate me.
....being true to my pen.
....loving hard and hating soft.
....forgiving those who hurt me and moving on with my life.
.... being a poet.
.... Michelle
...Shay
...Shatter
...Korim
....Shake
.... Brian
...13
...Zell Miller III
....EB
....LaLOVE
....."House of Words"
...... October 12, 1984
....My mom and Dad
.... for everything that makes me me.

I love you

For Shelia ... updated.

Mommy, don’t worry about me. I know,
that you know me leaving you was always God’s plan.
Sleeping silently, waiting to be born.
Let your heart not grow hard in the absence of me.
I need for you to bleed and heal. I need you to feel.
Please still find my fingers in your hair,
Touching your heart to give you understanding that
my passing is not in vain.
Continue to tell the stories of we.
Tell the tale of our history.
Make the stillness of my lungs be your reminder
to live everyday until breathing is no longer required.
Mommy, I have been transformed.
Waiting inside gates,
holding the hands of Abraham and David
being my assurance that my sins didn’t
weigh me down but lifted me here.
Now I am everything that my dreams decided
was too expensive for me to believe in.
I am the calm before the storm,
I am the north star shinning bright to lead the lost home.
I am the ink in someone that is scared of needles,
saying I regret nothing.
I am the fist of the women,
who today decided to fight back.
I am the first child support check after 18 years of him saying
“I am paying shit for that Kid”
I am the blanket, wrapped around a mother who gave her baby back to heaven.
I am love vibrating off ear drums.
I am the strength that a
victim found telling his rapist.
“Daddy I forgive you”
I hold children who’s bellies have been filled with hate and tape worms.
I shield soldiers,
dying on the front line for
their babies who are still to young
to remember their faces.
I am the tickle of funny bones in the middle of a funerals.
I am the broken bottles of pending AA members.
I am kids playing in school yards
not worried about
skin color or sexual preference. I am the rosary without the cross
clenched close to your chest. Being your reminder of things hoped for.
I am still me only better. I am still what you want me to be,
only greater. I am your protector and
in return you have
become be everything. Beautifully placed in my
history as my Queen. Please, continue to let me
live in your memory. Let your heartbeat now beat for 2.
See my face when
you stare at full moons. Live life anew. Let not your womb feel lonely without me. Fill your now vacant cavity of those who still need a mommy. I need you to live on without me physically because Spiritually I could never leave you. I still belong to you and
though God had another plan. Please know that I still love you.

Twisted...updated.

She sits here.
Trying to make sense about being here,
and she come up with no solution.
No way to explain why her heart
decided to take her down this road.
Why the man her soul desires is bound to another.
She wanted to see him like a brother but her heart
was always bothered by the way he looked at her.
How their late night fire side chats always lead to
something that neither of them bothered to ponder
would happen. I guess they always knew.
Broadcasting their true feeling was not necessary,
cause when you saw them together you can see
the stab wounds on her side and
the poison intertwining down his spine.
Star cross lovers just waiting for their
time to not feel ashamed about their feeling.
Straining to be in this world pretending that
they can exist without the other,
feeling ribs collapsing because they
don’t have the support of the other.
Hoping for validation that will never come,
keeping their true feelings alive with lies,
How could she have settled for this?
She wanted so much more but
all she has come up with is some other women’s leftovers.
They tried to stay away from each other.
Almost making is though their invisible heartache,
But almost doesn’t count and they are no exception
to the rule of this twisted love game .
They have accepted their orders and
have deployed themselves in each other’s arms.
Ready for the war at hand.
Ready for the stairs
and the whispers of “how could they”.
It is the question of a lifetime.
Now that their life lines have intertwined they have no room to look back only to look forward.
Looking thought Chrystal balls for salvation, but the vision is cloudy. Being muddy with the dreams of what could be to the reality of what they are.
To her family she will be known
as the house wrecker
who stops looking for her own man and took comfort any another.
They will call her a whore.
Slut
Bitch
And they will call him a dog.
A Good for nothing man.
I knew that you would be
Just like your father.
They will think of every name but what they really are… which is sorry.
Not because they betrayed their respective lovers but because they couldn’t help themselves.
They have shed too much ink and tears for this day not to come.
They knew that there revolution was never going to be televised but they knew it would come.
They have taken the broken pieces of their broken relationships and created a new one.
One that causes room for judgment,
but they cast none of their own,
for they have no more stones to throw.
They know that their twisted love will not come without battle scares,
but they have been fighting had,
ready for their badge of honor,
because what you want
you must work for…right.

Truth... the Korim project.

Don’t ask me where I am going,
But where I have been.
Because that is where my truth lies.
I have lied to myself daily,
Hoping that it will save me.
Only now I have lost me.
Reaching though my vines and branches
To catch a glimpse of my fountain of youth,
But I always evade me.
Don’t ask me my name,
But what my army calls me.
I have stitched tech 9’s to my spine.
Protecting what’s left of my lifeline.
I have been beaten, broken and bruised.
My crown melted down,
hanging down my neck
breaking my royal traditions
being the reminder of who I was
and recalls what I am to my family.
They call me king
Because I built my own dynasty.
Using my dead cells to carve my name inside Mother Nature’s womb.
Spelling “Remember me”,
Because she tries to forget me.
My father puts his arms that control my
Hours and mins around my neck, choking me,
But my breathing is not connected to my lungs,
But my heart and my thinking keeps my life pushing.
So I stand, here pushing through my pain
to be powerful in my master’s hands.
Ask me how many forgotten soldiers
Reside in me.
Why I welcome them in so freely.
Ask me why I let men come inside me.
I hold on to them,
like they are my last bit of salvation,
cause my foundation is cracking,
the glue that I use to hold me together is failing.
They say black don’t crack.
But this skin has been stretched so thin
that my very soul has been brought into question.
These questions have to be asked, so asked me.
These soul searching questions,
because I can’t ask myself.
I have tried.
I do not answer.
Ask me why I will love you more than me.
Ask me why dark rooms scare me.
Ask me why I need people around me.
Ask me why my innocence can't hold me.
Ask me why when I cry it rains, only on me.
Ask me why my light is so dim,
that it makes it hard for you to see the God in me.
Ask me what I think of myself,
the best description I have come up with is a perfect tragedy.
Ask me to forgive myself,
and I might look confused.
Cause I have forgotten how good it feels to let go.
I stopped asking questions because
I don’t understand the answers.
So don’t ask me where I am going,
But where I have been.
Because my destination is never ending.
My beautiful journey is just beginning.
Ask me for my beautiful stories.
Ask me.
Ask me.

Slam just went to a whole Notha LEVEL!!!!

http://www.podslam.org

Please check it out... this is crazy.

SPEAK

I am a king ... Alexis Marie

Just another picture of a Fallen Warrior... rest well Shannon

Shattering minds, the phoenix will rise.

So this is another exercise by Mr. Korim. Thank you again.

My sentence: Takes me apart so freely.

TAKES

He is my rain.
A daily forecast of what I dare not to see in myself.
I guess you can say that I am better for knowing him
but he continually thanks me for being there for him,
when I think that I have done nothing.
I love nothing more than being his ray of light
because he always keeps me illuminated.

ME

Coming in the mist of finding myself,
I gained him has family.
One that loves me unconditionally.
Though our road together started rocky.
He has become a part of my everything.
Holding me together when I feel like I have nothing.
He lets me use his shoulders as my comforters
And tell me to just be easy.
He never lets me fall,
with him standing tall is how we were built see.

APART

We have taken apart our games,
our claim to fame.
Taken our heavy cargo and carrying it to heaven
cause only God knows what to do with them.
We have just left enough time in our day to breath.
Not that never had the luxury of knowing the mechanics
of the motion but father time forgot to rewind the
pain that knocked our inhale, exhales off in the first place.
So, we have taught each other it is ok to just be
Brandon and Tova cause sometimes our alter ego’s just will not do.

So

So we have stared at each other,
face to face,
eye to eye,
open wounds to palms
saying “I’m sorry for the past”,
“ I love you as my present” and
“you will be my family of the future”.
We will never carry the same name but
our blood runs thicker than sometime parents.
He has been better than any real brother
because our bond could not be clumped under a mistake,
we choose our fate to walk side by side.
And we will be the last bit of pie to the grave by my side…
yeah we are just that deep.

FREELY

We are two birds flying south in the summer
because we have learned we must set our own path
to make it to our destined future.
We have made it through many storms and
I know that there will be more to come with him.
Rainbows will follow us home and
our pot of gold will be waiting.

Now

Formal apologies are no longer needed.
Being an American terrorist can be laid to rest,
you have invaded this heart of mine…
and won.
Let us make our father remember our names,
let us reclaim our fame.
Finding my family in poetry and
being beautiful as one.

for my Sister...

She’s called “ Young warrior”.
Ready to die on the frontline to carry my burdens to victory,
but she has been carrying her own load for so long
that they have left impressions in her shoulders.
I told her ,
don’t worry about me,
cause I have seen the sand underneath her feet and
the prints she has left is crippling,
she is killing me because I can’t get through to her,
that going alone will not save you.
Picking up pencils is not your only road home,
You know you and you know that you have me.
Cradled in what we were meant,
to which can only be described as beautiful,
and that is what you are to me.
Beautiful yet bashful,
bold yet bound,
brave yet beyond the thought that love is knocking at your door.
I have been waiting there.
Standing here to tell you that even though you too have been left in the cold,
with me you will always have somewhere to call home.
I have been love’s fool before,
Wanting something didn’t understand me before
I waiting for a response to be assured that I was something , when I got nothing before.
Not even a hello to notice that I was here,
holding my breath for more time to find the one
that was always out of reach.
I see it in your eyes,
lids that have been weighed down
with the same pain that plagues me.
You drag your feet because sometimes your
heart is just too heavy
but we will be ok,
we will take our combined masses and
making both our loads a little lighter.
Picking up our feet and will march to our own beat.
We will no longer hold heart that have been
shattered by Dicks or taped back together by fragile fingers.
We shall stand tall
Holding a vigil for the yester you and yeaster me
that fell in love with the idea
that we needed to be in love to finally feel whole,
when wholeness was always in our hands,
gliding across papers,
holding our weapons of choice and
being poets.
Penning our problems on parchment,
pressed between battle wounds and healing scars.
Remembering that heartbreak held us down but our love held us together.

Moonlight

I am waiting for the moon,
to look me in the eyes and tell me,
"I am sorry",
cause that's the least he could do.
He has been casting death's reflection over me.
Making the devil come out of me.
I love when the "new you" appears causing me
to think that I have enough time to
snap back into the old me.
Snap back my angel wings.
Hoping to go back to my use to be.
When I felt like heaven was waiting for me.
When the world was lighter.
When my future was brighter.
When I think that you have forgotten about me.
I see a quarter of you peaking over the horizon o f my darker hues.
Being my sign that my hell will soon begin.
Being my sign that my hell will soon begin.
That's when my demons want me back again.
Satan whispers come back again.
Saying "That I'll be back again".
I tell him that I don't want to cause anymore pain,
but he is not listening and to think this all
began from my favorite breed of man.
Telling me, that biting me,
will enhance what he was doing to me.
But the only thing that learned to savor
is an unquenchable thirst to break hearts and its killing me.
I use to have enough control over my intellect
to not enjoy torching yours,
but it bothers me that men think
that women don't understand the game.
They seem to have forgotten who was the
first to deceive man into eating the fruit of knowledge.
Eve was the first and I wont be the last.
Last I checked the ruler of this world was me,
we.
Constantly casting shadows on men's ego's.
Stroking their familiars to make them remember where home is.
I am so good that I could take ....
you, if i wanted to.
Make you bleed for me,
strictly voluntary,
just to make my happy.
I wish I could render null and void the hands of time,
take back whats mine.
Wish I could reclaim possession over my
body and mind wishing the life line of my
victims didn't taste so engaging.
And I want to let you in on a little secret...
Dahmer has nothing on me.
I have bodies stacked in my wake and counting

I dont pick my prey, my prey picks me.

And I have tried to stop myself,

but how do you stop what you are?

How do you kill want lives in your vains?

I wish I could be like you.
Not scared of full moons,
dancing to hypnotic beats that
turn me into your worst nightmare.
As I howell at the moon.
I curse what I have become,
waiting for you to come around to corner.

Assignment .... from B. Fran

This is what i have to believe

that this was right for me.

I take after my father's skin,

mixed with milk and honey,

trying to connect my lack of color to

my lack of responsibility to my other side.

The side of me that keeps me thinking that I am dirty.

So I sit in showers,

hoping that the steam will melt the ignorance out of me,

but I don't feel any better.

My soul is soaked with guilt of not

telling the man i love that

my blood i mixed with the cornerstone of shame.

For years,

I created stories of tans that never

faded in the winters and

how my parents were killed

and our nanny carried my custody.

But for 9 months she carried me in to being and

how I followed her wishes to a T.

She told me "Don't be me".

I never broke that promise.

I lived as though our connections never

existed but the my secret is only thing

keeping me rooted to who i can never be...

which is me.

For 24 years i have played the role of the American dream,

but the making of a marathon of nightmares.

Praying to wake up and be two sides of the same coin,

praying to be whole.

Jon Goode...

Great poet.... Great man

The many faces of me.....

Twisted

She sits here.
Trying to make sense about being here,
and she come up with no solution.
No way to explain why her heart decided to take her down this road.
Why the man her soul desires is bound to another.
She wanted to see him like a brother but
her heart was always bothered by the way he looked at her.
How their late night fire side chats always lead to
something that neither of them bothered to ponder would happen.
I guess they always knew.
Broadcasting their true feeling was not necessary,
cause when you saw them together you can see
the stab wounds on her side and the
poison intertwining down his spine.
Star cross lovers just waiting for their time to not feel ashamed about their feeling.
Straining to be in this world pretending that can exist without the other,
feeling ribs collapsing because they don’t have the support of the other.
Hoping for validation that will never come,
keeping their true feelings alive with lies,
How could she have settled for this?
She wanted so much more but all she has come up with is some other women’s leftovers.
They tried to stay away from each other.
Almost making is though their invisible heartache,
But almost doesn’t count and they are no exception.
They have accepted their orders and have deployed themselves in each other’s arms.
Ready for the war at hand.

One of my fav pics....

I love it. Thank you Kesed for letting me steal pics off your Myspace page.

For my Angel....

Thank you for the free therapy sessions....
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Keep spiting my angel.
Karving Kaves are not the only thing that you are good at.
Keeping beautiful what the world deems ugly.
Kind eyes weaken me, make me love you more.
Karefully hold my heart in your hands and help my beat stay steady.
Oh i am so ready for my awakening.
Opening my chest to hold in what I call my everything.
Objectively standing there,
braiding your hair with my yesterday's fingers to enjoy our new future.
Overly ready to jump in to make me better,
you have made me better. Thank you.
Only you have seen me for me and I don't who that is
but I thank you for my new journey.
Re-doing what was blurred.
Re-building what was broken.
Radiantly, shinning on what was the darker side of me,
you made me see me. I love you
Reminding me that you should love you, cause i love you, and asking me don't you love you. Ready to now answer you, yes I love you but now i have learned to love me more.
I love that I love life so hard that if i hugged it hard enough I just might break its back.
I am perfect despite my flaws.
I have been thought to feel flowers cause you can find God in mere pedals.
I know that I could never repay you for what you have added to my history.
Including you in my growing dictionary, all i have left to give you is me.
Make melodies with my heartstrings.
Mind my excess baggage but i know that you can work through them.
Mark me so all that see me know that you live in me.
Moving me to places that I thought was gone.
Making our home, in what I call my everything.

The Korim Project part 3

My life in 6 words:
She was nothing
I am everything.
-------------------------------
The poem:
She makes me happy.
She is everything that I always wanted to be.
She makes me see through the shit I have been in and what was my salvation through them.
She is powerful, letting go of those who made me feel blue.
She feels you, and she knew that I was lost.
Was trying to make sense t of the senseless.
Was sitting on hot stoops on summer nights, wondering why it rained on my sunny days.
Was strong yet weak, loved hard yet met heartbreak easily.
Was ready for a relationship but never got in one.
Was my mother's seed though she never claimed me, to her being...
Nothing but praying that she would see my something.
Nothing never stopped me.
Nothing never controlled me.
Nothing was the nothing that I blocked with ease.
Nothing could never contain me cause I am beautiful.
I am hope that kept Jesus in a borrowed grave.
I am love that still finds longs walks in the park romantic.
I am peace that I keep close to my chest, so when the world gets to have something to lay on.
I am the child that leaves the nest, not knowing if she can fly but be damned to not at least try.
I am poet reaching for truth in this hellhole trying to find heaven,
am being braver than I ever have been.
Am bolder than my body will let me be. Am clearer than my writing shows in me.
Am smarter than my vocabulary can dissect.
Am more captivating than any mirror can reflect.
Am trying to still do what I am told, still trying to hold on to everything.
Everything that makes me me.
Everything that makes loving me so hard.
Everything that makes loving you not hard enough.
Everything that keeps everyone pushing.
Everything that makes me wake and see you beautifully frozen in time,
waiting for your que to be my perfect.

The Korim Project part 2

We are different, we are the same.
2 sides of the same coin, standing on its side.
Knowing that the other existed but not having the luxury of seeing you.
You bold you.
I have been casting out shadows to mark you.
You beautiful you.
Carving creative creations of yeasteryou.
My mission is to make like better for you.
Cause I never knew life until i met you.
But I am still trying to find you.
I look towards North stars in search of you.
I press my fingers inside your wounds,
trying to make sure that your words still hold true.
How could I have doubted you?
When slashes were added to your back I added salt.
When you were bleeding from your hands and feet I laughed.
You creator you.
I never knew love until I met you.
When I am scared you sing softly in my ear to sooth me.
And I thank you.
I will never understand you.
After everything I did to you.
You continue to speak on my behalf saying "forgive her for she knows not what she do".
The devil in me tried you.
I have mocked you, but were always true.
Remembering my face,
collecting my traces,
and you dies to save me.
Make me like you.
And I will me more than common.
Give me a new walk.
Convert my tongue to have a new talk.
Make my eyes transform to see you clearly.
Let me not be swayed by this world wizardry.
But let me hold wisdom's hand.
Give me enough strength to let go.
Help me walk through my burning sands.
Let me contain the faith that my mother instilled in me.
Oh how different a page from her eyes can be.
Please let me live out my family's history.
Let me be different from the world but the same with you.
I am ready for the introduction to the new me.

Just randomness...

A change has come.

I just love him.... O- MAN

For Shelia

Mommy, don’t worry about me.
I know, that you know me leaving you was always God’s plan.
Sleeping silently, waiting to be born.
Let your heart not grow hard in the absence of me.
I need for you to bleed and heal.
I need you to feel.
Please still find my fingers in your hair,
Touching your heart to give you understanding that my passing is not in vain.
Continue to tell the stories of we.
Tell the tale of our history.
Make the stillness of my lungs be your reminder to
live everyday until breathing is no longer required.
Mommy, I have been transformed.
Waiting inside gates,
holding the hands of Abraham and David
being my assurance that my sins don’t weigh me down but lifted me here.
Now I am everything that my dreams decided was too expensive for me.
I am the calm before the storm,
I am the north star shinning bright to lead the lost home.
I am, broken bottles of pending AA members.
I am the rosary with out the cross that you clench you close to your chest.
Being the placed you hoped for.
I am still me only better.
I am still what you want me to be , only better.
I am your protector and in return you have become be everything.
Beautifully placed in my history as my Queen.
Continue to let me live in your memory.
Let your heartbeat now beat for 2.
Live life anew.
Let not your womb feel lonely without me.
Fill your now vacant cavity of those who still need a mommy.
I need you to live on without me physically because
Spiritually I could never leave you.
I still belong to your and though God had another plan.
Please know that I still love you.

The Korim Project part 1

She watches me, through blurred irises.
I feel her trying to protect her window by trying to break through mine.
She is seeping softly through my shallow soul.
I break glances so she will not get the best of me.
I am trying to collect what’s left of my emotions that are trying to conspire against me.
I must protect my mind from intruders but my enemy has used diversions to distract me from my mission at hand.
The fusion of Jazz to me is like the fusion of my ass to this self confined seat had made the funny bones stronger but my spirit weak.
Recalling ill faded memories of lovers that never worked out and
to death having the last laugh.
I can see the color in her eyes transforming into filters, streaming thought the bad and the good.
Seeking which memories are ready to be savored.
My body tries to fight the uncomfortable.
Deep voices encourage me to still seek what wants to stay hidden.
As I am carried from one moment to the next, I am reminded that she is still watching, praying too that her soul will not be stolen.
Though language was never spoken, I tried to comfort our worries through non-expressive stares.
I run conversation through my mind on things and times that I wish never happened like hearing him say “I love you more” or
“I am not raising any bastard grandchildren” .
I struggle to remain focused with the task at hand and
I know that she is trying too.
I know that like me she is waiting for her que.
Waiting to go back to being labeled as sweet.
Being too busy, trying to protect the corners of our existence.
I failed to see that her guards were at their respective post.
I wasn’t looking at her but rather the shadows of my yestertommorrows.
I missed seeing her warriors fighting on battleships, not giving up until their skin was saturated with the salt of the sea.
I could finally see a Queen breeding gypsies,
being raised by Christians, being taught to love everything.
I saw tears standing their ground being ducts that were confused about their function,
Lips quivering the unknown, body in fear not wanting to reach that place of truth.
Eyes looking into mine, creating battle scares with invisible swords. Seeping softly through shallow souls. We break glances we will not get the best of each other.

Trick or Treat... thanks Zell.

She plays John's to keep the heat on.
He plays beats to calm his hornmatic storm.
They play hide and go seek with tongues.
Finding which one they can make come faster.
Hoping that her moans will carry her to the end of the hour
because this is her salary.
God chose right to name her Onyx, that's the color her soul grew into.
And she doesn't mind being calls by her profession because she worked for it.
She fucks by dumpsters and broken needles.
Sucks dicks and clits on playgrounds where she welcomes the gravel piercing her skin.
Cause at least she knows that she can still feel something.
She uses anything as her next bed to get ahead because tricking keeps roofs over her head.
Keep mouths fed
She never questioned why her occupation would leave her womb full of suicide soldiers.
Ready to die for their commander will, like eventually she will.
she never questioned why her introduction to this type of passion was from the man,
who was suppose to know what was best for her but all he did was leave her exposed to a world that she was not ready for.
Lips bleeding, screams proceeding, her destiny finally coming into reality.
Laying in mommy’s bed with daddy.
He made her see her purpose clearly.
After pounding her innocents, he left her a 20.00 on that old beat up night stand and said that
“As long as you keep giving me your sweet honey, then I will make sure that money will never come funny”
And it’s funny that her pimp and Daddy held the same crooked smile, telling her that this was helping the family and would make him happy, so she stands on corners and shares her dynasty with the streets that transformed her into a streetlight beast.
So she hustles Johns in streets.
She beats random meats to keep the heat on.
She tricks to keep the beat of her heart on.
She tricks because this is what we made her choose.
She plays this game of life like she is winning to lose.
She will live life like it is impossible to fail because she has to.
Maybe one day I will tell her that she id God’ ugly duckling pending her moment to become that Swan she has always had her eye on. To get off the cross that she lays on and realize that crucifying herself will not lead the lost home. That bruised eyes and ribs don’t have to be your calling card. I will tell her that she is a warrior. I will tell her she is beautiful.

Kisses

When you kiss me my heart goes cold.
Becoming less bold, shamble body losing its soul.
Making my mind crush under the pressure of knowing
that you are not going to be coming back to our romantic dinners.
I have left my voice box on repeat with my previous approved speech.
Regurgitating “Yes sir, your kisses are my bliss”, “Yes sir, I am ok with this”.
But my days of being the confined concubine have ended.
No longer will I pretend that this heartbreak doesn’t hurt too much,
That seeing you with her doesn’t hurt too much.
Each time my mind rakes over these lines,
Trying to collect my thoughts to see if I did all I could to save this strange love.
Or was it doomed the day we started this twisted love game,
or maybe I should have said my final goodbyes when I learned your name.
Forgive me for I have gotten off subject,
I don’t want to bring any attention to my ill behavior
Cause honestly, I would rather live a lie,
Than have the ongoing day mares of you not by my side.
Even though you no longer reside within me, the confirmation of your kisses
Still make my heart go in overdrive, tying to think clearly,
Creating strategies to keep you near me.
I stand in the face of my frienemy, who tried to be a friend to me,
but little does she know that her kindness is killing me.
She makes it hard to hate her, when I know her soul was made for him.
My heart carries constant contusions of your “I love you’s” to another.
This game has created within me self hate.
I have regular psychological inter-debates to create a solution for why
I couldn’t be the center of your desire.
Why my love was never enough.
I have to believe that this was God’s will,
to have a angel in disguise be our catalyst,
bring us to such a rapid end,
But your kisses still linger on my skin, still making my heart go slow, screwed, and chopped up.
Your lips pressed against my skin causing my body to shudder,
no longer hearing the sound, just feeling the vibration.
I wish there was a return policy on broken hearts,
I am not even asking for a new one, just one that never knew you.
Because this one has no space for anything or anyone new… it cries, it smiles, and it longs for you.
Your scent is laced in my speech, so when I speak you essence still flow so freely.
Still making me feel weak and when I think that I am at my peak on missing you.
I catch a glimpse of your smile and my heart goes right back to being your love child.
After all the pain, I still want to thank you.
I learned that death is not defined by physically not being,
but it can come when your “I Do’s” are placed with someone
that is not your reflection in the mirror.
My lifeline now lingers on your left middle finger,
being my contestant reminder that we are really over.
I love you, this is my final Goodbye and
I will miss your kisses because they made my heart go…

Phenomenon

Some call me a phenomenon.
But I’d rather be called a poet.
Not like those who use the affirmation of hand claps to make known that they are better than most.
Parasite of prophets who try to host their insecurities in me;
Killing their creativity, giving themselves chemical burns,
in return to leave none of their own mind behind,
because stealing mine seems uncomplicated, unproblematic.
Being the wonderful person that I am,
I have been trying to build up the emotion to be kind to your painfully fragile state of mind….
But I am tired of being your “dope words” dealer,
Promising me that you will lick my clit for another hit.
I am tired of you using my “trigger happy” terminology, to get a hold of faux 10’s.
I will stitch my lips, protect my spit, and lock away my stories, before I let you duplicate my ancestry.
Even now, you are watching at my lips to see what words you can savor,
trying to bleed the ink from my poetic dynasty.
Oh you know them thoroughly, but only in theory.
We are tired of you leeching and bitching about “how all the great poets are gone”.
No baby, they have just gone home, their just tired of you trying to breach their domes.
I love how you think that you have blessed me by calling me a beast,
but what you should be really calling me is … mommy.
Because clearly I birth you,
My name is stained with distain on your pages; and it also claim that bootlegging is your daddy.
Honestly I don’t remember when that bastard jumped in my bed and rapped me.
But souvenirs of my labor are screaming off your typed paper.
This is your final warning because the next time you take my lines,
I will put this nine to your spine then I will really show you who is “rhyme or die”.
WOW, guess I can have Chris be my ghost writer too…
but I have a little assignment for you….
Imma need you to go home,
Read like 5 different dictionaries and STOP BITTING ME!!!!!!
And as far as you falling on your knees, praising me,
and calling me Poetry’s phenomenon of the 22nd century.
You can call me a poet because clearly you’re not one.

Death's Dance

His sound came crashing down like Death's redemption.
His best performance,
his movements so fluid that strangers took notice.
Through the slight breezy that carried him, the silence of his fall was defiance.
His body slicing through the air so gracefully,
but the thought of life not existing was crippling.
As i watched this burden down Angel be plucked from his heavenly balcony,
I was trying to understand why he chose a 50 story drop as his way to salvation.
I wondered if the life that God gave him was too much for his soul to bare.
Were his daemons anchord on his wings
And his decent was just a case of God not really being the wind beneath his wings.
I watched the ground cradle him, bones breaking, soul seeping.
I cupped what was left of his face and i saw him smile at me.
Looking at me like his life's work was complete.
Like he was the new Mortals Messiah and his sacrifice saved me.
I tried to be angry at his convoluted decision but all I could feel was fear.
Afraid to face the facts of his final choice.
I mean who is to say that if his shoes sized fit me perfectly,
that my ledge would have not been higher,
that my leap would have not been bigger,
that my soul would have not been casted down to a hell hotter,
because i now knew what was best for me.
Because I knew that God didn't love me,
understand me,
Know me.
We were looking down on him,
when he was the only one of us that was looking forward.
We thought of him as weak,
when he was the only one of us that was strong enough to face the other side.
Brave enough to defy his beliefs to see if Satan really held captive God's suicide souls.
I feared my findings because his thoughts were not to far from my own.
The end result of his leaps left me to seek the same end with the scars that i new own.
His dance show me the way to be truly free.
His beautiful dance came crashing into me.

Spoken Father

He doesn’t carry his children’s pictures anymore,because seeing their images on Kodak refine paper is no substitution to the sound of their laughter.His sides are still hurting, hearing his 5 year old tell the tale of his now famous spider bite,and he still can’t get the story quite right.The few images that he has of them, eats away at him. He spits on mics to read and recite his history,he stares out at crowds an all he can see are their faces,pushing him to move the crowd ,always showing that they are proud to be descendents of his seed.giving him roars of applause before he even starts the piece and a piece of him dies.He pauses just to cry,so he can savor the salt of his tears to remember that he is still someone’s daddy.He would love nothing more to be their personal caddy,but his hustle is pimping progressive poetry,Not just wanting people to perceive him as a poor poet.Penning is problems on paper and performing, but at night,he lies in borrowed beds and prays “Father forgive me.”He walks into venues in his poetry ho suite and he sells his CD’s $5.00 a piece.Thinking about his next sex piece to get the money to feed his babies, because they are mentally and emotionally starving to be with their Daddy. I understand your struggle my brother as you struggle to maintain some sense of what your psychology degree calls “sanity”. And sometimes you stand within the four walls of your mind, just to scream at yourself that you are not crazy for leaving your babies. You design dreams of a better tomorrow, for the better pieces of you to know that you were fighting to be the man that you never had positive examples of becoming. You were more than just
A black man,
a white man,
a Latino man,
a hu-man.
That no longer wanted to live life through still picture frames, but wanted to die just to live for his children to say his noble name: Father. Father will never be a foreign word on their tongues. They will never look further than him to see what love feels like, what compassion looks like and what fighting for what’s right taste like. So yeah he never carries their pictures, because when he blinks, he sees them on the insides of his lids and when you see his blinks set on repeat,
he is watching their lifetime movie.
The newness of their birth still lingers in his nostrils,
and while he constantly exhales constant praise for them since their earthly introduction.
He simultaneously inhales into his lungs their innocence
which he uses to keep his blood moving because he no longer has a heart,
it was taken when mother earth, gave birth, to his Perfect Poems.
Even the groves in his hands have maneuvered themselves to spell out there names.
So when people ask him if he misses his kids, he says no.
He says they are here in the space that protects his soul,
they cover him,
they heal him,
missing them is not possible.

This is for EKG

“And no I won’t by the phone”
Having a relationship though voicemails and text messages is just not enough for me anymore.
These binary 0’s and 1’s can’t shield my heart from your blackened sun.
It can’t make love to me on winter nights,
giving me the security that this old love is going to be alright.
See right now I am caught between this finger friendly fantasy and
this cold call reality, this fading reality that has me thinking
that your LOL’s, OMG, BRB, LUV, and TTYL’s mean you still love me
I pray that my VM’s, SMS, MMS, and e-mail’s get through to you
because well, I am through with you.
I’s through playing lines that I don’t even believe anymore.
I have had your name tattooed on my lips for ten years now and
now I am just tired of moving both of them.
I am tired of these voices controlling me,
making me jump every time I hear that ring back.
Talking about “Baby come back” ,
While I am trying to get back a bit of my own sanity that you have tried to back hand out of me,
You, well you now have a wifey that you creamed in and planted your seeds in,
Something that you told me that you never believed in,
And your baby girl is your seed that I need some sort of understanding,
like how could you let this happen, now you don’t have no answers for me
but You have vowed to protect her from men that followed in your footsteps ,
you are trying to reverse the way you treated me
praying that you doesn’t see is never revealed the real you,
you hate yourself but most of all you hate me,
because I left you face your 18 year reality that
you are not the FEW, that was PROUD to call themselves men,
my friend are nothing more than a pathetic penis,
you’re not a DICK, because you could never live up to the name,
Your Mandingo claim is darkened by how you sold your soul for a sham salvation.
Your shattered dream was to see me carry your seed and
birth beautiful poetry but my pros was never good enough for you,
but that was the journey that will never be travelled
I am leaving you this last voicemail that you will delete before you hear my voice.
You have already stopped my life support that I have kept connected to my heart through this IPhone,
so disconnects are nothing new to me.
The unlimited access to this world wide hell has left me tangled up
in my own disconnects of regret
your outsourced customer service has left me confused
conveniently providing an language barrier that never left room for open lines of communication.
How can this exquisite love affair be downgraded to were spoken words,
are a thing of the past and we pass off our feelings through ring backs
followed by a recording of your baritone voice that tells me the same ol lines …
“This is Richard, leave your number and I’ll hit you back.” … I am still waiting you bastard.
You have been wasting my unlimited media and
I can’t seem to break this never ending 2 year contact that
I willingly signed on the dotted line.
I hate this phone and you because you both have broken this warrior that use to be me in two,
for I can no longer hold up these bundle packages that I kept building for you.
My notepad is maxed out on memory trying to get you to remember the stories I have a written for you
to really see me,
I have rained down finite verbs and future progressives so you can get a chance to feel me.
“So no I won’t sit by the phone, no use crying bout it, I have to do with it and no I won’t sit by the phone.”
Word.

I have been there.

I have been there.
Being your bed sheet fortress,
protecting you from the monster that they insisted that you call father,
he constantly trying to prove to you how much of a man he is
by trying to break you out of the man he wanted to be…..
he is jealous of you because you can still dream
while all he can muster up is night screams…
but you are so brave using me as your thin sheets of armor and you never forgot me…
you are my nighttime warrior.
I have been there.
Being the color wrapped in your iris as you watched mamma take her medicine daily,
in her favorite arm that she hates, for you to see.
She thinks that her smiles camouflages her concrete battle scars,
but little does she know that you can see right through her
and through her you found street’s beauty….
and because you were her beauty mark you marked the color in me as your Queen.
I have been there.
The ink that replaced the real tears that you refused to shed;
nevermore will these streets rule you, talk about you,
mock you and treat you as their favorite slave.
She wanted you to you be weak but she was the one that really needed thee...
we, only wanted to be heard,
now we have transformed in to beautiful birds,
doves that never have to cry again because
we live off angel dust which has removed the icy crust
that use to be our heart now we beat on the same
tempo and you are my melodic hero…
and as our metronomes sing synchronize beats that radiate our heat,
my hear will continue to sing the song of your undying shero.
I have been there.
Being the electronic messages that you received
when you found out that she was not yours,
was the transporter of the worst news in history and I knew it.
Heaven’s little angel is the reason you resume business with the Devil again,
the reason you started hustling again, slanging again,
gave up your 9 to 5 legal job to have enough bread to make her happy.
But your baby was worth it and you now know that being a father is not matched
with D-N-A but how well you are a P-O-P-P-A.
She is yours and you still fall to the floor thanking God for her
because she made you into the man that you are today….
Mainline Father…sideline mother.
I have been there.
Being your picture of a reflection that reflected that you were finally home,
I will be your biosphere dome,
where you know that our love could never leave room for infidelity to roam
because you have been there and we are ready for tomorrow.

Formal Apology

She said that I was beautiful; she said that we would be best friends to the end.
As long as I did everything she said I would always be under her protection.
I was scared to be alone; my mother’s womb was never really my home, so I found shelter in her.
Before her, I was just the lost world’s baby girl, too afraid to be alone,
finding solace in whoever and whatever, just to not wanting to be trapped with myself.
I was dying to live right so someone will love me, then she came to me.
She made the fear that resided in my belly, leave me, she evicted him from me,
I was finally free to be the little girl that I desperately needed to be, wanted to be.
She started asking me for favors, started by asking politely to take her everywhere with me,
I didn’t care because anywhere she was or wanted to be I was already praying to already be there.
Then we started to have intimate slumber parties, where she would squeeze me so tightly
that my breathing was be exonerated from my body and I didn’t mind, she needed me.
I mean that was more than I could say about anybody.
I had her name tattooed on my tongue so all I could only speak her language.
I would cast spells to shield her from posers who tried to use her name in vain.
She asked me to touch her; it was never a question of if I was going to take her,
but how many position I can take her.
I did my best to try to hold the heat that she burned for me while trying to contain my fire too.
She asked me to taste her and I told her no.
I wanted to inhale her, bringing me to her skies where her clouds took me past 9, she staying pregnant,
trying to hold me together, anticipation mounting for my arrival.
Our breathing was synchronized and she and I became the perfect pattern,
patterns that matched beyond our spiritual treads, we were perfect.
Until I gained new friends, then I abandoned her, because it was not popular to be with her,
I was ashamed of her, I even started teasing her.
I was a part of the in crowd now; I could never be seen with the likes of her.
At lunch I ignored her, at worked I tortured her;
even at home I lost her, never holding her, never talking to her.
She became boring.
I thought I was doing great until she cornered me, choking me,
screaming at me “Don’t you remember me!
I was the one that was there for you when there was no body.
I was the one that held you at night, was your shoulder to cry on, I never left you.
I use to let you write inside me,
constantly in my womb, misspelling your misgiving and hiding them in me, I am your abandoned diary.
I was the one that you considered necessary... it was me poetry.”
Then I realized that all she wanted from me is my pen and loyalty and I failed her,
I put everything before her and I fell out of love with her.
She put me down and walked taking her final bow and my twisted stage.
I began to remember her strength and tenacity.
I could still hardly breathe but I remembered how she still was my respiratory.
She was the best to me and even though she hated me,
she still needed me and slowly I realized that I needed her too.
I vowed that weather I wrapped my tongue and lips around BIC’s or felt tips,
I will always write to her, I will always do right by her.
She is the best thing that will forever happen to me.
So my lady poetry, I am sorry and I hope that you can accept this as my Formal Apology.

A Love Piece

Let us run away from here.
Let me hold you close while we let the sea of our new emotions overwhelm us.
I will be the path that enlightens your shadowy reality and
the caves on the side of my face will store your fears and fantasy,
forming new formalities that our facilities will have to focus on… float with me.
Let my tears be your liquid fortress, defeating demons that try to destroy you.
Before they have a chance to envelop you and deceive you, I will be your weapon of truth,
leaving gashes on your goliaths, gremlins and goblins and my prize would be your simile.
Finally being happy to just be, no longer afraid if they are going to take you way,
panicked about someone messing with your good name, you will just have to be mine to protect.
Your prize is you have complete ownership of my pride; I am your ride or die.
Our home with be our place of safety, where the world will only know shadows of our existence.
I am in love with you and after every mountain top and valley low I am so proud to say that we made it.
We have gotten the last song, last dance,
we have bowed out gracefully knowing that we have done the best we could we are each other reward.
God could not have done better, and our love and emotions will overflow
into cups that are will always run over.
They say that love don’t cost a thing, but I would pay with my very life for your success,
give you my limps if you need to walk again, needed to write again.
I would slash my BIC across my tendons, if you needed them to move again,
use me again,
making sure the every piece of me will be implanted in every piece of you until you and I are one.
When there is no more breath in me and I have fulfilled my destiny.
They will stretch me over the stage that the Medical Examiner performs on.
They will cut open my abdomen and I have stored all our secrets in
my unknowns will be known
they will discovery scare over my ribs and know that we match flawlessly.
My final report will say that I died trying to live for you.
You stole my soul to console the inner child within thee so
we can still float to our sea of emotions, settle in between mere mortal’s stares,
become anew in heaven’s morning dew.
This is us, this is me, this is you.

The Killer Poet

At 23, no one ever thought of me to be a poetic nightmare, striking fear in those who try to test me.
Though I always came off as kind of funny with violent tendencies,
my father never mentioned I was a Rhymester reaper,
devouring the devil’s demons for dinner before you even understood my breakfast.
I cannot be stopped, I dream in stanzas, breaking up lines to make room for my imagination,
creating barriers to separate the poets from the posers, trying to get closer to blazing beds.
All I wanted is to be fed.
if you don’t know how to use this art correctly and accurately, I will take your lunch money and your cookies.
My creator doesn’t understand me and the woman that birth me and ashamed of me, she is scared of me.
Praying to God that he will smite me but I am too powerful to be taken.
And she is sadly mistaken if she thinks that I will be dismissed because this world doesn’t know what to do with me.
I am the apple seed that proceeds to bleeds understanding.
I am the original sin, collecting souls for the benefit of my pen.
People’s response to me is funny,
they cry “why is she not using her power for good…
aspiring people to be a doctor, a lawyer, a architect or anything to bring people back to reality”.
I laugh as I have them waiting in baited breath for my response
I advise the masses that they can be all those things,
can’t they see...but I don’t need technical terms to be me.
I will never be legally called JP, MD.
But when I speak, I stop aneurisms of ignorance,
giving the spiritually sick, time to open their ears and seep in truth.
I take my knives that paper mate designed,
carve my words in their chest,
cutting out all impurities and only leaving them hollow and hungry
constantly search for the truth that only I and poets alike I can fill,
making their eyes see through blinders,
serving the essence of souls to be worthy of me again, to feel again, to heal again.
And the rumors are true; I will not be your never local destructive DA, or the never corrosive corporate head,
giving head just to say that I got ahead.
But I sit on juries being persecuted every day,
witnessing what good words and do when they are in the wrong hands.
I can testify seeing the truth being cast off dinner tables,
disregarded as scraps that only the house pet is worthy to savor.
I give sworn testaments, seeing lies remain the welcomes guest of honor, no longer needing an invitation.
I have seen strong communities become content with fairytales
they keep them closer to their hearts than their obvious better halves,
giving more praise to the creatures of their craniums than their own children.
But this burden down angel is tired of the lies and ready to start fighting …
stealing what the rich have taken for granted and disturbing a food for thought to the starving,
making martyrs out of mortals who marvel at my magic.
I will restore order to this poetic injustice even if I have to take out one to save thousands.
And yes, my 1950’s based education will never take me to see my name on buildings,
made by poor man’s hands, bloody and burned laboring over there new master’s plans.
While the new plantations are being built in the center of town,
While these “soft hand” landowners,
who don’t give a damn about whose lives or communities they destroy,
they just see prime land , the only lesson that they retained is how to take.
Taking from good hard working people and transforming East to Central,
modernizing black historical landmarks,
claiming that they are reviving our inner cities,
but where was all this modernization when blacks could step foot on UT campus…
tell how much we have modernized if our population is still only at 2%.
Their game is to devour our youth as they handcuff them and put them in noose.
I want to build mansions in the lost man’s mind’s eyes,
constructing pillars of strength for the weak and painting walls of encouragement to the lost.
My blood sweat and tears are mixed together to create ink so my pen never runs dry,
I never wanted my name on provisional buildings but on the eternal hearts of men,
when I am called to Glory, the best parts of me will always live on…
I, we are gifts called God’s lyrical assassins.
We are the ones that are never spoken of cause the mere rhythm of our names,
steals volatile vocabulary that we use to build our Menacing, Metaphor Military
taking out anyone that tries to forge our father Poetry’s name and
abuse our mother allegory because we are her legacy.
So if you see my brothers and sisters in the streets, choose wisely what you say.
And for your sake,
I hope that it was worth it.

Phoenix Future's Dreams

Hotel fantasy,
See these hotels fantasies are mixed up with candle wax, naked backs and head board cracked. I wanted to make a movie or two, while the sun peaks in our room to learn how to make new galaxies. While making beats with your meat making me lose consciousness, giving in to the feeling of being free. I treasure your presents and every time you are in it I can’t help it but to back up on it making my juices run down my thighs as if they are trying to break records, me being the spectator while you win the gold, having your flag at full staff, and me singing our national anthem. You and I are as American at Peanut butter and jelly, our lovemaking never gets old it just gets wiser. I love the games we play, especially the ones where we place ourselves in dark rooms and you use your nose to guide you into my soft folds and you land your tongue on my ready throne. I play my part well too, using my hands that God built, that were on special order for your erections, tasting the fountain of you, to make the moment last for all eternity. You being inside me is my respiratory, creating strained visions of blue dots and pink ribbons. Making me believe that dreams really do come true, picking lockets and taking apart fruit pockets and pouring it all over you. Licking traces of battle scares and war wounds of loves gone wrong, taking care of your mental hurricanes with the swirling of my tongue, and you called her Katrina, so when you think of levy’s breaking you think of the cold around your heart breaking and how our love flood the streets and we will never call in emergency relief because we like the drift. I use the last piece of me to carry you into orgasmic wave after wave until your feet land on steady ground, and just when you think that we are done the torrential rain will start again, making this love drown you, never wanting to come up for air, you said that your breaths were mine to take and you don’t mine the stillness in your chest because it is a reminder of the peace that you have found in mind. See this is just not fucking, this is Beethoven‘s unwritten symphony, where quite beginnings create earth shaking crescendos to emphasize our different movements. 1/8 notes and ¾ beats guide your paste. I scream for the movements to end but you only press repeat so our pieces will start over again, hearing me cry all over again, playing me over again til you work me over and then we pause and we catch a bird’s eye view of our masterpiece. Your smaller frame is a wonderful deception of your devilish intentions and you constantly remind me that size does matter and pleasing me does too. See you have no problem getting on your hands and knees, putting my limbs over each shoulder and eating me until your feast is complete. Making sure all courses are served, making sure you take a piece of me home with you, so you can savior pieces of me later. You make me tired, sore, never board, animalistic, desperate for your kisses, aroused at night, making me feel like everything is going to be alright. You are my sweetest melody and you will always be set on repeat.