Wednesday, November 26, 2008

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.

Monday, November 24, 2008

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.

Friday, November 21, 2008

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.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

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.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

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.

Monday, November 17, 2008

One of my fav pics....


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

Sunday, November 16, 2008

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.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

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.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

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.