Light Skin, Good Hair

I was selfishly spewed from a spanish sack

into the lost culture of free slaves.
Born to combat the taunts crushing
the female of a darker shade.

A poor girl with concentrated smiles

nested me in her arms.
She felt her beautiful creation
was a wonder beyond her charms.

Mother was tainted by city fads,

complexion, hair texture ruled.
Though her genes could never change,
a man to trap would do.

Father of an intolerant culture,

lived his life in shame.
For my tree had all the likeness
but my roots were not the same.

Mother overwhelmed,
felt suffering damned with growth;
attempts to set me free
with a soft and fluffed pillow.

God declined my ascend

and granted me my life.
New Mother awed in marvel
at the child who was born twice.
So a throwaway may roam
into worlds of sex and battles;
no family to guide is like
a boat without a paddle.

My journeys became clearer

with each and every pass.
If it’s true I am unwanted
then my heart is full of trash.

So waste I did become,

into a world of sinful thrills.
A man birthed in rejection
trains a mind to kill or be killed.

Now a natural mother’s grief

drives desire seek and peek.
My eyes began to itch
as she starts to take her seat.

She searched for me for years,

plagued by guilt for most her life.
My candid tone bled hatred
as my words became my knife.

She asks if I’m a father.

We spoke of my womanizing;
suddenly she’s religious
after years of selfish hiding.

She asked about my feelings

having three women with my child to care.
I responded “They're just like you mom,
they want a child with curls and fair.”
Lil Misty Michelle

Her eyes of still

caribbean waters,

with moonlight
thumbing atop,
studies me in
silent wonder.

Her smile of
photos ablaze,

years gone,

lies dormant
in her breath.

She is my mirror,
a reflection
of the beauty
I’ve always
hoped to find.

Taking hold
of my arm hairs,
she gradually
settles into
a special love.

The one I saved

just for her.
Heritage Accepted

Skin ablaze,
embraced within
a field of foreign suns.

His shine reflects

piercing laughs
at staining melanin;
absorbing luminous
hatred into rays

of blinding,
coma-awaking
blurs.
The Massacred Beauty Of Poetry

The invasion of creativity

causes havoc, sending
symbols into panicky
swarms of hush.

A colony of words,
disturbed within their
cerebral hive.

Verbs demanding order

from the cowardly nouns,
taking cover behind
imagination.

Adjective pawns
say goodbye, while
holding back their tears.

Synonyms prepare to
fight the war, while
metonymy soldiers
guard their beloved,
Queen Imagery.

King Metaphoric
cradles his crown,
in prophetical agony
of defeat.
Bravely, the colony
charges from their hive
with shouts of many tones.

One by one,
helplessly slain,
and thrown unto
their paper grave.

They leave behind a

legacy of determination
and valor,

used by the world

to enjoy the sweet essence

of muse.
Home From Work

Walking into
my dim apartment,
television left on
to warn off thieves;

fantasy blue sparkles

of light dancing a
path to my ceiling fan.

Sit my gouged hard-hat

on the gum graffiti
table I found up north.

Bump the hills

of my dusty work boots
that stink to high heaven,

while tossing my faded

safety vest, that doesn’t
quite reflect like it should.

Grabbing the last beer out

the sticker stained refrigerator,

wondering if she
will ever come back.
Conversation With A Vegas Hooker

“Pimps never were my forte”

with the glass of wine swaying

on her bottom lip,
glistening in cheap
lunch break fashion.

She touches up her smeared

lipstick, camouflaging
the one spot her
cigarette rubbed away.

Her dry, sickly,

spontaneous coughs
sent red flags trickling
down my spine.

"I like my profession,

make my own hours,
and meet great people.

Had a few doozies though.

Beat me like a fucking drum,

boy I’ll tell ya.

See this scar, a wiz kid

gave me that.
Drunk college boy,
mad because I asked
him was it in yet.
Still don’t want a pimp,

giving some jack my bread?

No honey, not my forte.

Well let me go
and get my butt back to work.

You stay out of trouble and study hard.

Love you baby.”

“Love you too Mama.”

The End Of Toys

This marks the end of toys
the puppets are almost out of cotton

Shreds of white fluff all over the floor

chuckles at babysitter’s slave-picking

Bubblegum dares to smell her seat cushion

what a stinky old lady, we fall out laughing

Run into her room to swipe her bras

hide them between her mattresses

Finding her dead husband’s shiny gun

we’ve never seen one in real life

The sound was so loud

You slept with your eyes open--

and the puppets ran out of cotton

The Right Side Of The Bed

Awaken

by the bouncing glitter

of dust dancing

in rays of morning sun.

In a tug-of-war between

freedom and cracks in loose boards,

devolving awakenings unto meaning

and a mood is born.

The Death Of Spirituality

We are all two halves of one whole
fused into a shell at war

The battle of soul and flesh

erupts lifetimes of avalanches

Burying us beneath the ashes

of lost morals

Decomposed to the bones

of ignorance

Hosting parasitic ideas

that feed on the corpse

of hopelessness

Women Check Yourselves

Some women say

the nature of a man

is that of a hummingbird--

Flower after flower

wilting each silky petal

into brittle flakes of weeping morn

I feel choice does not grace a flower’s beauty

and such desirable creations are not companioned

by desires
morals
or soul

So I ask
what are these women doing wrong?

Moody
I never meant
to scare you
with my apt

desolation.

Sometimes I flicker
like the long used
fluorescent lamp;

if you change me
I’ll fall to pieces,

with each shard

carving abbreviations

of our names.

My vacant winters
baring ice castles,

cold to the touch.

Guarded within hides

the warmth of
a Grandmother’s eyes.

The Leading Role

Foolish

to think my
velvet draped

vibes,

would spread open

for performances.

Scripts

easily read
like a school play.

Roles

acted out
in fine amateur fashion.

Applause

from an audience
only wanting to be nice.

Abandoned
Blending
these layers,

a forgotten
used pile.

Discarded waste
of middle class failures;

left to roam wastelands

amongst souls
unseen

by once
privileged eyes--

who once laughed

at poverty.

Lushly

My
 Love

For

You

Makes

Me

Sway

in paranormal
states of
countless hours,
trailing your scent
in a hallucinating daze.

Following
winding curves,
off balanced,
I topple,
as I long
moments
to sip
the moisture
of your breath.

Filling every void,

meniscus,
spills overflowing
my heart with
claustrophobic words
as I run out of space

Woman Reading Erotic Poetry

A towel soaked with passion

wrung out by weary hands
into empty mayonnaise jars
kept under a bed

for lonely nights

After Midnight

He creeps about,
very careful not to slip
on the polyurethane floor.
Balances the edge of steps
on the balls of his feet;

cuts through the darkness

like thirsty bats.

He peeks inside
a bedroom,

there sleeps a woman

settled into obscurity.

He enters the room,

stands near the empty
side of the bed;

removes his cloths

as quietly as an unaware soul
being called home.

Seeps under the comforter

like a deadly gas;

the woman sighs.

Alone With A Thought Of Her

So in love
writing her name in the dust
on the windowsill

Blows fog on the glass-

draws a heart

Muddy fingertips wiped

on his pants leg

He dials her number

but hangs up before it rings

Sits in his chair

and entertains memories…

until his wife walks in

Pregnancy

He stands over her,

fingers clawed
to the ceiling,

head bowed
in defeat.

Tears vine down

his jaw

as he clinches his teeth,

remembering when she-

oh when she

loved only him.

Tailor Made

Garments tie-dyed in opaqueness

ripped into long frayed threads

woven into fine veils

worn over the faces

of glass intentions

Where God Can't Hear

Sweat evaporates
before it leaves my skin

This smothering heat

choking me
I float

Pressed
between an earth I hated
and abode of my works

Once thought they ailed the other

Now suspended in
a prison

As slaves shovel
torment into a pit

Hole of chaos
dug by careless living

Awaits

I feel footsteps above

vibrations of the living

Slowly crushing me

Raised hands below

through reddish gray death

Waiting for my descend

The moans
I know its hunger

I teased those heaved bellies

Animated the dormant

dangling before them

In a place where prayers

are unheard by Christ

Recovery

We blame aura
for smearing the glass,

the squeaks of our oily fingers

made our skin quiver.

Pacification rolled off our tongues,

echoed as it splashed between us.

We slipped and fell in the puddle,

you recovered--

I laid wounded and forgotten,

watching as you stepped over me

with him.

The Love Of A Grandmother

Sleepless--

chickenpox blistered to a head,

pus oozing down my skin,

threatening me at every doze.

She comes--
calamine lotion,
oatmeal;

rubs me,
and smiles.

Never Hit A Girl

Inconsiderate

I can tell you all about it--

typing at my virus ridden dell

as she sleeps right behind me

tossing away from the monitor’s leer
She wont speak a word
only complaining in sheet snatching

she’s mute from guilt

you should see the zippers

She never thought I

would inspect the cause of it all

What cause you ask

~Lets say bumps~

Lets say painful knots grew on you

but where?

In the place you hide

from God under the covers

This woman, your wife

children and a vow

You work hard

you pay bills

~But she’s bored~

Not enough attention--

the fedex man delivers

~More than you think~

Now we take medicine

and our skin reeks of her promiscuity

But I’m wrong if I throw it back

her face raw from pointed fingers
~But I’m wrong~

So like any hopeless romantic

I stay and write this poem

Wishing I had the balls of my father

to beat the living shit out of her

A Poet’s Secret

The mark of a memorable poet

is not his mastery of vocabulary
but his truth wrapped snug
within his lie
To Save The Hopeless

Why she loved me is still a mystery.

I’m lost within ruins,

a symphony of defeat.

Spitting out teeth

at the windshield of
passing cars.
Once the closet was full,
spillage flooded my veins,
washing away belief;

leaving scars like a rusty razor,

peeling a desolate mind.

Drug abused eyes,

pink and swollen,
like swimming in dirty pools.

A star shined once,

illuminating her headstone.

I ran towards it,

dived,
right before it disappeared.

Managed to see the color of my arm

with blue, blood deprived fingertips;
inches away from the soggy rose
nesting earthworms,
atop the grave of my lover.

She wanted only to soothe my torment,

but became consumed
by my meticulous pieces of pain.

When Love Seeps

The only thing I hate

is you pretending.

You--
asleep with one eye open,

awaiting my touch,
so rejection paints neon signs.

Tangled in tufts of opium,

begotten numbness.

Flames doused in airless lips,

a looming silhouette
through bathhouse steam.

Once focus cleared,

I seen your hand sway naughty--

with a middle finger.

Poet With No Literary Education

If a book sold,
I bet buildings topple.

Implosion
with no explanation for it.
Only red-nosed dime tooters
may scribe an abstract,

"Poverty whores
have nothing intelligent to say."

rotating heads
as the Pulitzer is handed.

"He didn’t graduate with us

where’s his nicotine stained fingertips,

no product placement for starbucks,

what’s going on here?

Literature has gone to shit."

Love Unintentional

Love was not the plan,

spillage from the cracks

of dry rotted support,
leaked acid,
burning into my heart.

She fancied pain,

tattoos covering tattoos
of severed ties.

Her temple buried secrets

and I,
the tomb raider,
caught in the trap.

Chicago Housing Authority

On leveled land,

bones of old men

huddle around emptiness,

where hallways reeked

and young girls vexed.

Brown dead grass

imprinted with
shadows of stacked bricks.

A hell, man-packed to brim,

silver survival coating

layers of genocide.

Cleverly composed
extermination
of black dwellers,

who never had a chance.

Statutory Rape

voice of old worlds

imprisoned

Charge --
Statutory rape

I was pulled
into the toils
of a young boy

his heart flourished

with dormant muse

and through scars

I am welcomed

I gave him sound

reason

through my words
he became prince

he became loved

he became…

Through my words

he felt his first breast

formed his first smile

Through my words
his pain slipped
somewhere below
deliverance

and he was accepted

Only society’s ruse

deemed me unfit

and I was stripped from him

buried beneath factious hell
So don’t write me off --

for every moments past

I shall be heard again

The L Word

...I’ll stalk you relentlessly,

since you say the L word

is so overrated.

We can debate in glass

and fuss the answerless,

is it half empty, or half full?

Then spill out
like loose lips,

finding ourselves in dreams--

we’re too sick of being lost.

Sands of time sprinkles,

so lets frolic nude under rainbows.

Catch the el during rush hour,

flip off the old ladies shaking their heads,

while you pole dance

near the doors.

It stings as you slap my face --

couldn’t help it,

I love you just slipped out.

Conservative Man

The moment he cracked open

the old, peeling door,
a wave of body heat
flared his nostrils.

Musty scent of sweaty bodies

swaying loosely;
fanning fumes
of liquored breath,
watering his eyes.
Back of his neck stimulated
by debauchery cult drifters,
in seemingly tranced states.

A tingle of lime squeezed

by the bartender,
catches his bottom lip.

Guided by the trembling wall,

banged by tilted, ear piercing speakers;
a quaint fellow,
too green to break free,
too lived to change.

Too conservative to let go.

Love Is (My Interpretation)

So many times
we debate on love,

subtle abstract,
or concrete slab?

Either way it’s elusive.

I must admit,
heat from love’s hell
has thinned my skin,
but it always grows back;
thicker than lies,
stronger than a condom,
when you really want it to burst.

I know a couple
married for 32 years,
they pride themselves on endless love,
yet sleep in separate rooms.

Maybe love is
defined within a Haiku:

-- acceptance is like
a cold cave with beaming light
at both ends of choice --

Think about it,

when she can stand the smell

of your sour feet,
and you can stand
the smell of her silent flatulence,

love then locks you

in chinese finger cuffs;

the more you pull,

the more you feel the pain
of possible separation.

Get too close,

escape,
and drift away.

Only to repeat the cycle

with someone new.
Secretly storing memories
on mental shelves,

peeking in every so often.

Concluding
whatever love is --

it sure does take up

a lot of room.

Innocents Damned

The death of a minute

nears consequence,

as life swims
within her tainted waters.

Gurgling the poison

with every breath
of a damned life.

Every minute passing,

a heart nears its break,
the dark hole
baring hopeless growth.

For every pierce

of a vein,
press
of a thumb,

waters slowly blackens.

An abyss within
once Godly flesh,

breeds the hatred

of innocents.

10/18/08 (Sweetest Day)

We spoke briefly
hours ago.

You said you were busy

and would call me back.

Now I wait,
reflecting
on the picture of you and I
framed by a once bare wall.

I wait,
until outside noise
becomes a soft melody.

I wait,
until the stalk of night
shrouds the muffled cries
of my lonely soul.

I wait,
until my eyes adjust,
and darkness is but a tint.

Suppressing pride,
I call you back;
you claim to had forgotten,
only a few days ago
you claimed
to love me.

Now today
you forget to call--
fuck you.

Unevenly Yoked

She’s so beautiful

I just had to explore

the possibilities of it all

She’s agnostic

I’ve been saved

for years

She thanks
herself
I thank Christ

She scours the filth

left by awful memories

I preserve them
in glad-wrap
for poetry

She shines in astrology

I rain in praise
--sometimes--

She gives sex in abundance

--for many people--

I know my sex
is a covenant

She believes in
same sex attraction

I think
Oh hell no
--but I’ll watch you indulge--

She feels like

a woman molting layers
of society grown standards

I feel like
a man in decayed patches
of hopeless skin
sewn by threads
of stress fallen hair

She says
lovemaking
while slicing her name
in my chest
with a box cutter
brings her to
the ultimate climax

I say
“It’s time for me to go now--

You crazy bitch”

The Feedable, Conceivable Lie

Oh the intricacies of a lie

such a shared tool
of life

We all hate it
and yet
use it

We breathe it
we need it

Sure
misuse has been
the downfall of many
but the upside is endless

The suicidal kid in high school

he lived because someone
said they cared

Lies

My girlfriend feels sexy

because I told her
she lost weight

Lies

She tells me
I’m the biggest
she’s ever had

--Ok
bad example
I’m sure she was telling the truth
(Hey it’s my poem)

September eleventh
was a terrorist attack

Lies

--But I admit
it sure did direct our attention
away from the government
while they pick-pocketed us--

Porn stars have more sex

Lies

--George Bush fucked America--

 Top that

They say the most important issues

in our country today are:

Gas
Obama
Democ(racy)

Lies

--It’s the endangered species

of decent human beings--

Only Good For The Gander

I can’t figure out why

my actions are just
and hers, vile.

We sat on opposite sides

of the bed,

mesmerized by the grind

of the struggling air condition
on its last leg;

both our faces

smothered in cupped hands.
She whispers,
“Was only payback.”
in a struggling breath
right before her cry paused.

“I caught you four times

and each time I forgave you.”

I believed that
to be her final plea,

and maybe it was the weight

of arrogance that fell
from my shoulders,
or the texture
of her blank expression
that read in brail,

that made me realize

I was a piece of shit.

The Dressing Room Wait

I sat with my legs crossed

to appear comfortable,

in the unofficial section

for patiently waiting men.

I sat that way for so long

that blood to my penis
was slowed to a dying pulse.

I felt it flop coldly against

my inner thigh,

silently begging for air

like a fish on land.
A woman walks out,
modeling her tight-fitting dress.

One of the most sexiest creatures

I have seen outside of internet porn,

and yet,
my penis remained cold.

Soon after
my woman walks out;

stuffed into an outfit

she had no business taking
off the rack,

and as blood slowly refilled

I remembered why I loved her.

Boomerang

I’m sick of writing about you

the same old boring poems

scribbled angrily on
matted pulp

I’m sick of crying over you

tears bled
by self-induced pain
dehydrates my heart

I’m sick of going back to you

not this time --
my imbalance will now
embrace the slandered
security of solitude

I’m sick of being without you

please baby --
hurt me once more
for old time’s sake

Cleansing

Define monogamy
in a way to
actually believe it

After romance--
a steamy shower rids
skin of deception

Traces of one night

assaulted by soap-scum
down a drain

Delivered to sewer rats

drinking from the water
and acting like people
Loneliness

Sitting in his old recliner,

bottle of
wild irish rose
shoveling a ditch
designated for self pity.

A fly lands on the shot glass,

has itself a taste of the residue,

and felt the burning desires

of a lonely man.
In His Own Hands

Eighth grade drop out

at home to baby-sit
his little sister and brother

Moma’s lazy ass

doesn’t have time

busy screwing
and getting high

Television raised him --

taking the advice of

cousin commercial
he calls DCFS
Pains Of A Man

Sometimes deliverance escapes me,

dribbles through my fingers,
and leaves puddles
of surrender.

My nails are snatched out the skin

from climbing mountains
with moss covered stones.

My shoes reek
of mildewed blasphemy,
rotting in the prison of
macho banter,
and a longing for
inner freedom.

My eyes red
from intoxicating nights,
and bleeding temples
from deep thoughts.
Leaving me defeated,
worn, and separated,
from what women say
a man should be.

Adrift A Gust

Since when did autumn

become such a poetic word

Don’t they know of the heartache

dancing jitterbugs on crumpled leaves

absorbed and dried
fallen from the very branch --
once thought forever strong

Can they not see the bareness

of it all

The erect posture pointing

in bad directions
just when hopeless romantics
were considered cool

Wandered off
and never found a way back
because by snowfall
footprints were covered
by a weary tread

Interstate 40

I stopped off at a small diner

Just off I-40.

A small run-down cliché

of nick-at-night sitcoms
in the middle of New Mexico.

The typical waitress

tickled me with her
flamboyantly big hair,
and annoying gum popping.

Vintage attire,
with a peeling gold nametag
angled toward the floor,
reflecting a light-ball
that zigzagged
with every defined twist
of her frail torso.
She had a tattoo of,
~ Luv Dan 4ever ~
on her left forearm,

with infected track marks

right above it.

It soon dawned on me,

miles away from Chicago

and addiction still cascades
before the eyes
of regular people.

Forgiveness

I fear she is death

a naked lullaby
glistening in mood

Draped in cotton satire

I'm shamed by her stares

and forgiven once more
in the moment

How can I leave

when regret settles

on a once simple earth
flat land that choked
in the throat of trust

She blooms judgment

not in such a way

as I have known
but in still beats
A vibration of sheet metal
thumped by raindrops
sprinkling rust from underneath
unto the dirt
in which I was created

Once Mines

I seen them throwing popcorn

at the bejeweled sky
of greedy gulls

The longitude of her smile

stretched through the atlas
of my abjectness

When she was mines

her shine seemed dull

Now with him

she illumes rays of growth
Truth of things

In all truth of things

a truth caressed in twilight

when even the restless

slip on spilled calm

and labels removed

replaced by lower
price tags

and value substituted

for counterfeit morality

because even the sky

has its price
3 ½ Baby Mamas

I spread like the glide

of a bed sheet

to be felt,

collecting mementos
of the willing,
only wanting the same.

One woman,
a bi sexual fad
I never loved,

listless
callous affection.

One woman,
I loved amongst
the simple needs,

only her heart encrusted

with abysmal mischance
and hapless views;
so wasted.

One woman of tragic beauty,

so desired within lust
but offered nothing.

A mere design
disposable after one use.

One woman,
I try so hard to love
but my heart has filled,

so now
she feels the emptiness
of a full womb.
The Peace Maker

I laughed once

remembering sciamachy nights

hours before you stopped by

The armor of that--

your heart

stilled rivers of amber reflections

flaring glowing shades of distillation

As I settled in the rays

of your shadow casting light

I forgot why I was angry

in the first place
Silver Clouds

cambric of solace
coax around my feet
to soar carnation skies
where silver clouds meet
My Worth

Sifted through
like grains of sand

but the gold has melted

in sun

now sumptuous glass

with oily fingerprints
Murderer

I once orchestrated a lullaby

a stupid teen
caught in stereotypes

a statistic
of ignorance
and product of love

she cried on my shoulder

pulled me deep into
the dark places of manhood

she asked for my help

and I-- the man

her man

shot--

man curls
and I feel

oh my God

I ran so fast
and never stopped
now a grown man
and yet
never stopped

Lunch With An Ex

We sat in the corner booth

away from sun-glaring windows,

both needing clear focus

to outface the other
with jealousy attempts.

She knows rich men,

I know aspiring models;

our stares clashed

like viking swords,
and words tobogganed
down steep landfill mounds.

A fun ride on wooing digress.

Leaving Me Dead Inside

alone I sit here

contemplating the grim truth
that you hate me now

if you don’t love me

why are you living so long
you said I was life

death does come to us

welcomed by our sorrowed tongues
to complete our fears

and so you stand there

hoping to be noticed by
a man who’s not me

your sex has become

the delayed aneurysm
of knee buckling pain

afraid of the love

that over takes me at night
leaving me breathless

you are the disease

that has consumed my body
leaving me to die
Art

She noticed me surreptitiously,

standing pigeon-toed
under curly looped hair,
with her mother’s smile.

She slips off around

the wall,
and I hear the light tap
of a dropped crayon.

A stickler for discipline

and yet,
my face shined
of morning sun,

as I admired color
on a freshly painted wall.
Apartment 3E

There is an overweight woman

who lives right above me

I feel her heavy steps

in lazy movement

I peek through my curtains

while she walks her dog

she hides in the shade

of deadened sun--

a muffled laughter
in night air
Skyline

Cat whisker skyline

threading junction
of heaven and earth

A living reel
for tired eyes
in mundane commute
Hush

We were given shelter

by shady ann

a runaway hoarder
supplementing her lifestyle

of crushed rocks smoked

in broken car antennas

Makeshift peace pipe--

because she claims

she’s half cherokee

but everyone knows

of her nazi roots

She loves her young black boys

“Those chocolate cocks feel good”

but we never felt abused

because boys are strong

and we
the real niggers

knew better
The Scent Of Failure

In the dim corner

laying fetal,

sure of everything
but a thought;

not even a rat

would nibble a toe

nor the roaches

concerned
in cracks.
Batteries Not Included

Secrets increase in value

when collected

Eventually sold
for flashlights to shine
into a dark past

Only the purchase

may leave you blinded
stumbling aimlessly
in the dark

when batteries
are not included
Overlooked

In the thick of city life

the bad spots

overlooked by el riders

passing the dead scene

in which people could
be normal--

if only someone
gave a damn
Old Maid

An old haitian woman

sits dauntingly
on her plastic covered couch
while petting her haggard cat

Every so often chanting

gibberish in broken french

A prayer from the loneliness--

her curse since youthful years

when kisses were wet
and eyes were dry
Downtown Flirts

My eyes disturbed your strut

across michigan avenue,

under the blinking lights

on the city tree.

I knew that you noticed me

as you trotted
to mask the stumble,

and your creamy face

turned pink,
as you faded away.

Chicago 11/04/08
In a starless sky
of crescent moon

choppers shine their lights

on joyful streets

where the poor cheer

in new hope

and children believe

for the first--

they are somebody

Brothers and Sisters

In a now calm city
of coffee stained air

our piece of america

adorned with election buttons

on streets never meant for us

shows that our dead

has risen in change

In every heart bruised--

every tear shed

every feeling pricked
every dream broken
every shameful walk
every jobless month
every despair

of every person of color

hated for what we
could not control

Stereotyped
and made to believe

hated for so long

that we begun to hate
ourselves

We can love again people--

they now know
we are capable

we now know
we are capable

First Breath
In the middle of grant park--
watching white people
cheer for a black man

I loosened my tie
to allow the lump to pass

and for the first time

I breathed freedom

Ugly Guy, Beautiful Girl

In the parking lot of cellular field
amidst the fog of sox jerseys,

I saw her.

Object of every desire,

mostly lust.

She caused a wave

of open hands
and red cheeks,

while whispers flowed

between her tanned thighs.

She walked holding hands

with the ugliest,
yet luckiest
son of a bitch;

later I used the urinal

beside him,

glanced his charm,

and damned my mother

for her lies.

Payless Blues
A roughneck shorty
in the pantry sobbing

unconcerned with the mouse

caught head first in the trap

He cries from fear

of schoolyard laughter--

name brand wearers

and he
jordan styled pro-wings
in which he is ashamed

My New Inspiration
In betrayal of sexist calm,

I allowed her to interrupt

my peppermint tea
with my innate pal,
chauvinism.

She flew in on a huff

of garlicky breath,
expelled by her fluent muse.

Her genius gnawed

at every imperfection
of influence;

spawning new dialects

within meters of a
carefully crafted
song.

She lifts me up into her world

of silver highs
and light blue lows;

wrapping her glittered shawl

around my most guarded
admiration.

Living Waters
Floating under
the calm sullen moon,

washed ashore
shuffling feet
of shackled
ignorance.

I am the splash
on walls,

crashed.

The sound of
thunderbolts
striking heritage
in the balding
areas of change.

I am flowing ripples,
an endless whip
in current’s past,

flooding the evolution

of my destiny.

Think In Tolerance
I’m breathing the air of my Father
The air of his Mother
The air of God
The air of Jefferson
The air of Garvey
The air of Obama
The air of Bush
The air of Life
The air of Death
The air of Sound
The air of Self
I’m breathing
A breath
Of air

I’m breathing Winter

I’m breathing Fall
I’m breathing Nations
I’m breathing Truth
I’m breathing Cover
I’m breathing Bare
I’m breathing Sins
I’m breathing Prayers
I’m breathing Hopes
I’m breathing You
I’m breathing
A breath
Of air

The air of Nice

The air of Mean
The air of Doom
The air of Help
The air of Peace
The air of War
The air of Homes
The air of Loss
The air of Ups
The air of Downs
The air of Smiles
The air of Frowns
The air of Whites
The air of Blacks
We’re all
Breathing
A breath
Of air

Surefire Ways To Get Over Your Ex Girlfriend

1st rule of thumb,
no sad music, it’s evil,
and drags desperation along
back of a pontiac, staining the
pavement with obsession.

Second step:

Bury the low down

bitch alive!

You’ve already given her

everything under the sun,
why not give her the earth as well?

Ok, so you prefer not to

go that route? You’re right,
she may take pleasure
in the fact that
you have went through
so much trouble.

Suicide may be
an available option.
after all, mental anguish
is an ice-cold beer
on a hot summer’s day,
compared to being trapped
inside a pit of fire,
and burning in hell
for all eternity.

Time for plan {B}

You can try jumping

your pathetic ass
in the shower,
and brushing your teeth wouldn’t hurt.
A shave wouldn’t kill you either,
and for crying out loud, put
on some damn deodorant.

Now, grab some notebook paper,

and write a lovely poem about
how she left you for a married man.

Write how she has gotten your only son

attached to this loser,
and now she’s knocked up.

Put on some clean cloths,

take the bus downtown,

(Since your soft ass let her

have the fucking car)

and go to the open mic session.

Mingle with the ridiculous,

new age conspicuously shady beatniks;
snapping their fingers
for every sad sack that steps on stage
to pour out their heart in front of
total strangers. Making you feel
heard when it’s only a disguise
to make you feel obligated to buy
their book.

Try walking over to the bar,

careful not to fall and drop
the ton of books and CD’s
you’ve just bought.
Talk to the pretty ladies,
but only the ones dressed in all black;
they’re so fucking artistically weird
that they will deep throat you in an alley,
while pissing out cocktail drinks
with the force of a water hose.

Hurry and catch that last

#4 bus back home.

Stand outside your apartment door,

key in hand, and ponder on the
poems you’ve just heard tonight from bitter
women, who poke fun of men
with multiple baby mamas and no car.

Think about how they have some nerve,

when they’re no prized virgins themselves;
the only reason they don’t have kids is because
their used, beat up and diseased vagina
renders them incapable of breeding.

Go inside,
form a big phony smile,
and go lay on the couch,
since the bed holds to many
scents and memories.

Bask in the glory of freedom,

and masturbate to
exercise infomercials,
since you have nothing better to watch,
because the cable was in her name.

What Should Have Been

I sure was relieved

as blood trickled down her legs,
soaked by pink footies around her ankles;
color slowly darkening like the fatigue of sun.

I exaggerated concern,
mundanely reacting like any good boyfriend should.

Selfish?

Maybe, but as broke as American made.

We’re all ugly like skinned knees

covered by sewn morality…
No sin is greater than the next.

Besides, my actions made up for lack of heart.

I mean, come on,

this thing was not planned.

It’s not my fault the security of 3 years

sent caution down the porcelain tornado.

I pulled at the height thereof,

I flexed.

I even revealed an empty house through the windows of my soul.

Now she’s teary while praying to God.
Amazing how she can love incompleteness,
stagnant growth that could have become an extra place at the table.

A life to teach, and raise,

love.

Watching a being grow from the exhaustion's of my pleasures,

into a compassionate human being
that I obviously let slip by.
A person,
one whom would look up to me with smiles,
honor my knowledge, and sigh in my protection.

Raw energy filling my home with sparks of

openness and freedom, discipline, respect,

and innocents.

Ok, I’m still relieved...

This thing,
this thing was not planned.

Funny though,
that I’m sitting on the edge of this tub
wondering if the heavens hear my soliloquy;
muffling my cries,
because apart of me never had a chance at the life
I willed away.

Damn,
it really is true
that we don’t realize what we’ve had
until it’s gone.

Calligraphy

Now that delicacy calms

a chaotic heart,
steady hands
pride atop a canvas
with meaningful décor.

A feathered pen
dipped in the blissfulness
of meaning--
artful;
every curve
tasting symbols of your name.

Space fills the elated movements

eager for perfection,
as a tear smudges authenticity.

No righteous grace
grants more room,
for the tattoo across my skin.

To Play A Player (My Interpretation)

On a path stained with fallen berries,

I’m careful not to slip.
This ground of colorful glory
baring shrubs of delightful poison,
humming tunes of luring whisk.

A taste of sweet juice tempts

the craving of a leashed beast,
thriving on the manic protest
of manhood.

Crossing into valleys

of quilted skies,
and villains that lurk behind smiles;
ever cautious of intent,
compressing seedy vibes.

All the while my charming

lies made vast;
they never seen the wall
as they stared down
chasing bread on a hook,
and crashed.

The Dirt We Do

Conjured flight
of wicked seeds,
spackling the space
of sullen morning breath;

tunneling new existence

inside the realm of vacancies.

Through dim winds,

a womb is ripped,
spilling the offspring
of forgotten loves,
hated faces,
and the inevitable karma.

New bodies lay bruised

on oily asphalt,
struggling for life
at every faint pulse.

A kind hearted fool

scavenges wastelands,
in an attempt to flush
plagued consciousness
from his tormented soul.

Only bitten twice

by the lives he tries to save.

Must not such evil be toiled?

Tired hearts may retire a past,

but future hires fate.

Ink Pen

In my past life
I was an ink pen.
Forcefully rubbed with my life force
onto a surface of boast.

Spending most days sideways

waiting for a fondling.

I was chewed on and sucked on,

stuck in a few ears,
discarded.

Passed around,
a stick of sound,
numbers on a palm,
a cheater.

A weapon,
kept as luck,
convenience,
tool.

I was dropped,
lost,
found and thrown,
used by many to write beautiful poems.

A step higher than a sword,

envied and adored.

Helpful,
traded and useless,
abandon and soiled,
creative, doodled.
Twirled, tapped,
stepped on,
cracked,

and crushed.

The cause of stains,

annoying, burned,
loved, hated,
rarely appreciated.

I was disposable
and never refilled,
committed some fraud,
and signed a few bills.

Once I was fought over,

that was my only moment of wealth-
and it’s sad that life sometimes repeats itself.

Hand Me Down Underpants

At first sight appeared fresh off the line,

seemingly tight and clean,
soft and all mines.
Soon I regretfully noticed wear,
flaking tracks dyed into the seat,
interlaced pubic hair.

Worn elastic with interlinked waves

spun webs of tragedy
to capture it’s prey.

As men before me freed behold,

these underpants soiled
with all their souls.

Now frayed, tattered, and bruised.

Loose and unfitting,
settled and abused.

Many times passed down made savage,

worn for urban brand styles
like 90’s jeans called damaged.

I scrub and I bleach, using tide and shout,

other men laughing at me
because they used to wear them out.

Only they knew when to quit the game,

being worn by so many others
they threw them away.

The next sucker to receive them,

yes, Is I.
Ignorantly gracious that something is mines.

Clinging to these things

like the source
of a dream,
I scrub
and I clean,
please make
these stains leave.

So many chemicals
I can barely breathe,
please God,
all I want
is something made
for me.

Wishful thinking.

I’m scared to take them off when I sleep

because whenever I awake,
their dangling from another man’s feet.

So these have loss their purpose, I seek a new pair.

I can no longer wear these,
if I have to share.

So goodbye underwear, truly a lesson learned,

that something so worn
only needs to be burned.

Bright Idea

Seen with a shine of virgin essence;

growing tumorous thoughts that burst
into a sentiment flow of oceans.
Swallowing ships a sail in line
with waves of true clarity.

Damaged

She sat on the hood of a parked car

all dolled up in her sexiest attire.
Timid docile doormat
reeks of scorn abilities.

Maybe she never knew her

daddy, or maybe a serpent
whispered lies.

Suffering from attached disease,

you know the clingy types,

--I'll die without you—

hiding car keys

while licking razorblades.

She enjoyed watching her men pee,

to her, a symbolization
of siamese souls—

Separation is vile.

So she comes hard

to cover memories,
for a second
peaceful.

She knows real life,

but love for the moment
was the great escape.

Our pain mixed well,

berry blue and lemonade
with the right amount of sugar,
on the rocks.

We leaked a bit of realism together,

not often though, time creates knots
and restricts blood flow.

Our understanding was agreed physically,

and our hearts were not compatible.

She was honest pain, I was lying bliss,

we asked no questions.

Faggot
Look at the little faggot
on his way to school
rushing in his church cloths
and cheap pair of gym shoes

Look at the little faggot

he didn't go to prom
maybe afraid to show up
with his boyfriend on his arms

Look at the little faggot

going to college on the bus
as poor as a church mouse
because he wont sell drugs like us

Look at the little faggot

he's the judge for my case
and I swear I seen a grin
faintly dancing on his face

Frequencies
If someone mentions
--soul mate--
I scoff.

These hopeless romantics

they never learn.

Any fool can see that attraction

is merely frequencies of the soul.

Love is nothing more than good timing.

Runaway Memories
Menacing scratches
fingernail tracks
leaving gaping patches
in the small of my back

Tortuous bellowing out of my name

while comfortable in roach infested bed
thunder and lighting exceeds the rain
dry air encourages my struggling tread

In the shallow shelter of infatuation

I desire this pain in troubled times
only to guard my intentions from saturation
using golden memories and silver vines

I try to grasp hold of this screeching ambient

raping my senses, enveloping me in a shroud
of dead scented merciless deviants
with a posture that made them look round

Left behind on my pillow lays a jaded rose

with a serpents' stem and scorpion thorns
opens just a little and suddenly folds
into a position of death fated being born

To say I've never known happiness

the jealous traders of an old world
like a gift I'm frantic to unwrap this--
my own broken and bitter girl

I pity those who dream of home

off in far and lonely places
nothings better than this world we roam
with cigarette smoke aging our faces

An ode to defiance as authorities enforce laws

pictures posted, parties hosted by abusive guardians
secretly admitting that they were the cause
as they accept sympathy from their friends

Privileged people walk by open dirty hands

as hunger summons violent thoughts to sooth
and the attack begins against a wealthy man
to take from him, an arrogant prideful mood

We are the soldiers of sweet rebellion

free children of a corrupt society
stripes earned according to the felons
metals given for combat fallen teeth

I'll be right here after the ball drops

never again will I be truthful
even the day that my heart stops
would make it all so beautiful

In The Name Of Love (Acrostic Expression)

If I mailed you a letter

filled with sweet loving words
covered in white powder
making your fingertips burn

It’s only because I

Miss you

If in the still of the night

you spot me in a tree
beating off in the cold
until my nose bleeds

It’s only because

I want you

If I run you off the road

and pull you out by your hair
gouge out your eyes
and force them to stare

It’s only because I

Seek you

If I break into your home

and knock you out with a pole
whisper magical chants
to capture your soul

It’s only because I

Thought of you

If I take my own life

and granted a rebirth
to live as your slave
just to prove my worth

It’s only because I

Yearn for you

Silly Girl (Cliché)

Now look what you have done,
you’ve gone and slit your wrist again.

Let me aid your wound with my tongue,

it’s what you wanted all along.

I know how the attention excites you,

like the moon you demand it.

Your erect nipples pulse between

my pinching fingers--

silly girl.

The world is dire

and we’ve grown tired
of our skin.

Together we slept in icy tubs

in every skid row joint in town,
comfort has become so cliché.

There’s a fine line between

uniqueness and conformity,

but who sacrificed sanity?

Or maybe they are two

different breeds of mastery.

In either case, I just rather

stand still in the wind
and let it push me into
the path of a moving car,
since a gun is too cliché.

Silly girl.

My rants make you laugh,

and I am suddenly pulled
back into your world once more.

Cereal in bed watching,

water bugs on the sink,
made me realize just how
cloned we really are.

Being dark is too much

work; only in light
do we practice vanity.

So I’m returning back

to the world of sensibility,
where battered women turn gay,
and men masturbate to pictures
on myspace.

Silly girl,

the only thing cliché about that,

is not doing it for a while.

Pretend To Love Me
Stalk me in denial forever,
leaving sweet lyrics inside
pieces of broken glass.

A black marker is as permanent

as monogamy,
so I gladly slit my wrist and watch
as you orgasm to my stupidity.

Using my blood to paint your lips

as the ink infects my judgment, all
the while I'm eager to please.

My happiness,
as real as a perfect childhood
with scars fabricated for sympathy.
I am only here for you
bleeding out impurities,
giving God the finger,
as my sick heart coughs up your hair.

I die before you tonight,

as I have in nights before,
and nights to come.
You never once forced me to open up,
but somehow, you always seem to get in.

Maybe my trust issues give way

to lust of love.
certainly not sex, such an easy little pet
to capture.

Only manipulation whips me in a manner

that leaves me hanging on for my life
with one arm. You knew I was an idiot,
yet you waved anyway.

Bitterness (My Interpretation)

A surge of violent pleasures,
sending waves of young bodies
across hateful skies.

Bleeding
to be,
so naturally
open.

Walls reinforced with melancholy tunes,

form unbreakable barriers;

leaving vines that stretch

for miles, being used by little girls
to jump double-dutch.

Scurrying pass attention

like project bred roaches
soaked in store bought anthrax.

Gasping for that last breath

while gloating survival through a nuclear war,
and never saw the foot coming.

Obsession With A Dead Girl

Belonging to desires of every flesh

weaving dreams of your attention
into a perfect mesh

Not once did you look my way

as my gaze of amazement
set my pride affray

Temptation leans on my spine

leaving me the burden
of idle time

A mind of pure catastrophic

self indulged fantasies
as my profit

I give way to every glimpse

sitting amidst a dream
of your occasional appearances

A beauty rare and able to divide

the natural and spiritual worlds
as embedded in our minds

at night as I pray in my room

on a cold wooden floor
longing for you

I swear a reckless life lived

to achieve the inevitable halt
and eternal sleep it gives

In hope that the afterlife will embrace

my soul and grant me one last look
at your pretty face

Emotional Content
I'm the blame for the hand that's dealt
this life of trial and error
leaving me pain I've never felt

These tears flow

relentless memories
I can't let go

Death to memories
Death to memories

This time you must die

for being such a human reaction--
for bleeding my eyes

The sky has fallen

if only I could mange to forget
now pain is calling

Death to pain
Death to pain

Let me perish in a state of bliss

in orgasm covered demise
I can't get enough of this--

desperate and heartfelt pleas

No room for others

my heart won’t let you leave

Death to heart
Death to heart

Phantom in romantic evenings

you open again for past betrayers
yet my truths you refused believing

Love conceived a welcomed innocence

a consistent reminder of your touch

Can love be an emotion that does not exist

Death to love
Death to love

I lost myself in faith

that together we would breathe
now another rests where I used to lay

I dream of lies, was once of truth

I lie here hating myself tonight

because I'm still in love with you

Death to dreams
Death to dreams

If only I could forget

Honest Liar
Not really a trick in contention
than the desperation act
of getting your attention

Pour me from this glass jar

as I open freely on ground
to bare my every scar

All my wombs self inflicted

by the tongue of acceptance
in which I became addicted

Ran you from my planned allure

outside the rescue of my arms
into something more secure

Such a clever courtship crime

to lure you in this close
in such a short time

Stay, and the slate will be cleaned

to a shine of your liking--
eventually

The Sissy And The Gangbanger

I seen the cool rebellious boys as I grew

with their name brands and finger waves
but the one thing I never knew
were the dangerous games they played

The toughest homeboy around

the neighborhood knew him as T.C
he did time in jail and wore the crown
for being the baddest thug in the city

T.C hooked up with a red bone name Christie

she always hung out with her best friend David
everyone said the cat was a sissy
because him and Christie never dated

Now T.C wasn't threatened by Christie's best friend

although David was a good looking guy
Christie told him she's known David since she was ten
and that their friendship would never die

After a few months T.C moved in with Christie

she went to work while he stayed home and sold drugs
and everyday people said they seen the sissy
hanging out with T.C and his thugs

During the summer you could catch the two fellows

hanging out at the forest preserve drinking beer
looking at the barely dressed rats with their sexy hellos
and fake diamonds sparkling in their ears

Their friendship was a living oxymoron

one rough and thugged out brother hanging with a prep
behind closed doors was much more going on
for light always reveals the dark secrets that are kept

Now Christie is knocked up with T.C's baby

and he seems to be so proud
chest stuck out while with his lady
feeling like the luckiest man around
No one has seen David come by in a while
although there was a very nasty rumor circulating
that David was jealous Christie was having T.C's child
and he was going all over town seriously hating

One night Christie and T.C got into a big fight

the moment she walked through her front door
she caught David knocking T.C back this night
in the middle of her living room floor

David started to profess his love for Christie's guy

told her that this relationship would never end
the father of her child was now bi
and his secret boyfriend

T.C denied the scandalous claim

said what happened was the first time
his head hung low and he was ashamed
but Christie knew it was all a lie

She put both men out of her house

cried as loud as thunder and lightening
it rung through her head what David announced
now this news had became frightening

Month's later Christie took an AIDS test

only to find the results were positive and now
to try and save the baby they'll do their best
but Christie's future lies six feet down

Her parents were devastated

so was everyone else in the hood
it was nice to know the baby would make it
but for Christy the news would never be good
Now the neighborhood knows all about T.C
all of his respect has been lost
he continues to remain silent and unseen
soon no one even gives him a thought

As the years went by poor Christie was found dead

news of the other two came later
T.C shot David and himself in the head
ending the chapter of the sissy and gangbanger

In Scorching Heat Of Thoughts

As if I was special,
I walk my rhythm like arrogance
like an old folklore dance.
Each step blessed in fairness
lost in false awareness.
All these hip cats curving my spine,
and in this, I am fine.

Some religious woman insists on speaking truth,

as I mask in the cut perfected aloof.
I watch my kids grow,
and old loves go,
and street dwellers die,
and I wave goodbye--
and in this, I am fine.

Yes I’m flying low for all to see,

once to shy but now I’ll be,
the one people dodge as they are screaming,
“Wake up from your lucid dreaming,
this thing is not as it seems.”
I guess they wanted to see me fly high,
and in this, I am fine.

I’m welcomed back to this lack of protection,

once seen my safety during astral projection.
Was almost trapped out of my own body,
I cried to God that I was sorry.
For his mercy I had to stop my lies,
from that day forth I would simply imply,
and in this, I am fine.

Amidst a dreaded pyramid,

a foe, health risk, and a friend.
I once knew them in another life,
tangled souls can’t be untied.
I speak these words for I have tried,
I could run but could not hide,
and in this, I am fine.

Forgotten
This dark room
one of many in this large home
dreams a forgotten mistake
amongst desires unknown

Pacified fears with threatening dust

finds comfort in the chipped paint window
there hangs urine scented bed sheet curtains
pronounced neglect defined as simple

This forgotten mistake

frightened and wishes to be kept
away from evils unguarded
stalking forgotten as it slept

Such a common beast

blasphemes in its biblical name
he whispers “I’m coming for you”
with breath lust stained

Forgotten, still as a corpse in a grave

lie conscience in routine fear
if God had a moment just this once
for certain he would be here

Paralyzing creeks as evil approaches

door squeaks a horrifying sound
death prayers now a musical
but no eternal rest is found

Evil approaches like a clumsy shadow

with strobe light movements sharp and true
kneels down upon forgotten
a new collection of souls it slew

Evil's breath touches loins like a blazing fire

with heat only hell can concoct
salivating drool of lava
and eyes a bright bloodshot

Forgotten, lost in shame

pain filled tears evaporated into salt
not a savior for the damned
nor a single caring thought

Evil-
orally gave
morally misbehaved

Forgotten--
enslaved in ruins
innocents chained and ruined

For this narrator, who heart does bleed

and evil’s death a dream
may God not see an act of wrath
for forgotten is found in me

Your Black Ass

Your black ass
long and lanky
fashionably blessed
cool smile and white teeth

Workaholic with hidden virtues

perfected casanova
made all moves smooth

Attitude
birthed by a broken home
separated from all who cared
no wonder you hated to be alone

Neglected but too strong for the streets

always stayed true to yourself
and stood on your own two feet

You captured many

captivating, motivating
gave so much away and still had plenty

Your mission fulfilled

but you came and went to fast
I’ll some day tell your kids
about your black ass

I Never Meant To Be An Asshole

I’ll be there in a while
flying through the atmosphere
only a couple of miles
until I reach that blissful song I’ve known

All along, it was born

Time has come and lied

with peaceful whispers whisking through
and dried my weeping eyes
make believing that you want me too

All along, it was born

I once knew how to be real

but the world took charge and controlled my beats
now I’m trying to love with no established feelings

I’ll accept your tempting style

although I know it attracts the wolves
I’ll eat your warm denial
and once I’m full, will wonder if I should

All along, it was born

After all this time it still burns, more and more but--
I used to know how to be real
and the world took control

I used to dream of man like goals

now all I have is worthless bones
an abandoned soul when not with you
but I loved

Hope my next time walks me through