305/365 Free-write in paint

Did it happen?
In the dead of the night?
Did it happen?
Did the wound feel trite?
Did it happen?
The tears fall when you couldn't catch them?

304/365 Free-write in chalk

The last time I could catch glances through butterfly nets
I lost my puppy to a bulldog fight, laughing delliberance
into abstinence the first time my doctor told me I should take protection,
"just in case."

Slightly deliberate the way we program our youth to be exactly who we complain about them being.
Like we have nothing better to do than create our own problems.

303/365 To My Unborn Son

To my unborn son,
You will be the heart breaker
everyone warns their daughters about.
Not because you are insensitive
but because you have heart wide enough to love an ocean
but a mind wise enough to know the difference between a chapter
and forever.
When you leave them,
they will curse their own name
place their forehead to your footprint
Cry each one to mud and sculpt Pinnacles in your name.
Their friends will tell you they didn’t deserve you,
they will know this isn’t try.
You will be the type of boy that will teach them everything perfect was not meant for them
You will be the greatest lesson of their youth
And they will hate you,
until they learn to love themselves.
You will teach them,
that anything that truly helps you
isn’t going to have to break you.

It goes without saying but you will respect women.
It will hurt me to do so but I will diligently treat you to value
their lives above your own,
but because this world will convince you they are below you
and my teachings will be the only way to balance tings into equality.

You WILL be a mama’s boy
and carry no shame with that title.
That you will treat every woman you meet with the gentle, love, respect and honor you treat me,
you will treat every woman like they are me
and if they do not act like me,
you will treat them like they do until they have no choice but to rise to your standards.

You will build the women in your community to rise for their nation.

To my unborn son,
you will the man that the woman of your dreams has lost all faith it.
You will spend years gaining her trust, removing bullets and nursing the wounds this world inflicted on her while she was without you,
you will kiss each scar and divot regretful that you were not there to protect her.

She will grimace at your healing touch,
afraid becoming reliant on it’s power,
afraid of wanting you around which she was taught never to do,
you will,
once again,
teach a woman that what will heal her,
will have to break her first.

When you make love,
you will do it with the true definition,
the one this world has long forgotten,
the one buried with sphinx’s nose
you will know every part of her before you begin to know that side
and you will do so with deliberance.

To my unborn son,
you will be the man other boys
tell girls does not exist.
Those boys will envy you
But you will be to far above there level to notice

302/365 In the Event of Letting Go who you've never wanted to be #2

But some how became

you will mistakenly believe that darkness follows

and never earn up to the choices that put it their.

Keep your heart light,

keep light around you as often as possible

but if you find yourself in darkness.

Own up to the choices that led you there.

Begin immediately searching for the light.

Do not hate your phones for the sounds it never makes,

the journey to shelter

6/30 She's A Writer

She’s a Writer

She’s a writer.

Her mind can’t hold a steady idea

but the words flow out of her as if they’d been built up for several years

kind of like her tears,

but she’s not crying now…

You see,

The ink from her pen was enough liquid to sustain the blood in her veins

Because while visions of glass hitting the wall in pieces,

Just so she can drive its biggest shard into her wrist danced in her head,

She’s calmed by the rhythmic motion of the pen instead,

These feelings are unwed,

uninhabitable,

and unjustifiable

But the load is lifted because she is gifted,

She’s a writer.

She’s a writer.

And though she fears she cannot always claim that title because words like

‘sleezy’, ‘broken’ and ‘unworthy’ often sound more accurate,

She can’t help but marvel at the masterpiece pain creates.

You see,

What she’s been through is indescribable until she puts it to words

That pain is irrevocable until her pen hits the paper

beckoning heaven to open it’s pearly white gates

and invite her where no one else deemed her fit

She’s a writer.

Plagued with writing the words that clog her throat

so that when she looks you in the eyes speechless

you’ll know that she cannot be heard,

only read and

through the often illegible scraps of handwriting

the disfigurements of her heart is shown

transparent through the lines of the paper like venetian blinds

refusing to close on even the most disturbing scenes

She’s exposed,

But unashamed

She’s a writer.

She’s a writer.

Un-subversive to Microsoft check and grammatical superiority

because a period would make it appear as if she could pause for breath

and an exclamation point is too silent

The outcries of her soul cannot be described through a line and a dot

Rather the conscious flow of thought void of pause or room to breathe

She’s a writer.

Letting it all leak through her pen

Letting the pen bleed a way down the journal

so maybe her heart won’t have to be so heavy

Within the leather bounding of her journal is the only place where her emotion matters,

Where her love is not a curse,

She’s important there

Because it’s the only place she can be who she truly is

She’s a writer.

10/30 Life Jackets and Relation Ships

I think I've finally composed you,

cause you tend to be mine to create.

I may have walked out of a book

but you walked out of my imagination

and I mold the thoughts I don't like

on sight

In this event,

tell me you understand my uncertainty.

You're a little hard to believe.

So I end up begging you to leave while simultaneously gripping your shirt,

pulling you closer and then shaking my head when you try to kiss me.

I'm drowning in my own contradictions

and I catch you giving me mouth to mouth,

slipping breaths into my lungs that expand with your consistency,

stay with me

because

in the sea of my own indecision,

you're the only thing keeping me afloat.

You're my lifesaver

and something of a myth.

Don't be afraid to be human with me,

Don't be afraid to be a god.

We'll switch entities.

We bonded both under and over the sky.

All moonlit and sunglazed, star dazed and cloud ready.

I'm pretty sure most couples have song.

4-minute melodious, lyrical combination that is all-encompassing of how they feel;

Ours is the sky.

How greatly we must feel then....

I think I've finally joined us.

Framed us in incongruent sentences that only we would understand

Like foot prints and doors,

Rings and power inducing "nows",

the ones we've given up and the ones I hate losing.

Respectively

Are the things that happen frequently,

like our souls entangled further than we can ever manage to get our bodies.

Poetry and sing-song.

You teach me new dialect.

Comprised of when you flick your tongue

or when it simply remains still,

and you just look at me....

Not that look of want, desire nor lust,

the one you give me when I catch you marveling.

It's when you make me feel beautiful, sexy and powerful.

It's the colors that paint your face when you smile.

The ballads that out pour from your eyes,

you speak verse like it's your native tongue,

and your tongue...

When we kiss,

I feel the sign language of love being pressed against my cheeks,

the mysteries of ancient Nubian hieroglyphics etched into the roof of my mouth,

WHERE did you learn how to do that?

P.S. I swear you're the prettiest poem I've ever written

24/30 Friendship

The line "no words needed" is the most confusing phrase to ever hit this poet's ears

and it's so truthful.

One look from him shatters my words into an exhausted endeavor.

With eyes that look directly into my soul,

words are a disposable effort.

You know me better than any life story could map out or a million conversations could divulge,

I needn't speak in him presence.

And I can tell,

whenever I tell him that I love him,

it's written all over his face,

he's insulted.

As if he didn't already know....

And every word of hatred is suffering up to it's eyes in obliterating love

When asking him if he cared about me was the most arbitruary thing I have ever done with my time

and I regretted it when he said, "How can you ask me that?"

Asked if I didn't see it in his eyes everytime they were upon me

But I kept prying.

Not because I didn't believe him

but because I manipulate his words.

But the wavelengths his touch awakens beneath my skin,

the encoded sounds that whisper directly to my spirit

THOSE are impossible to intercept.

But superficial words can be twisted.

So I kept asking.

And he replied, "When have I ever stopped?"

Now that's the part when I couldn't catch my breath

and my body suddenly went limp

after swiping at the air that just escaped it's grasp.

That breath ran away to intertwine with the melodic wind of his words,

it knew where it belonged.

In that moment

My mind became childish.

Trying to catch wind in a butterfly net so I could alter it's patterns.

Searching my archives for one moment,

One freakin' moment.

When your utter breath didn't tell how much you cared.

When every last one of your frayed movements didn't whisper my name

and I'm stuck

letting breeze slip through my netted fingers.

Never knowing the capturing power of an open heart.

301/365 Letters 97

Dear Dominique,
I'm sorry you're going through this but you are going through 19 years of bad habit. Be patient with yourself! know it's hard because some is witnessing your blunders but you need to be held accountable.

Quick Question; why do feel so bad right now?
Cause I feel like amazingly fucked up and that I'm a nuisance.
I'm not sure what to do. I'll talk to Richard. That helped last time.

In the meantime, I really think I need to become a better artist in letting things go.
I block myself from the beauty and happiness around me just because everything in my life is not perfect. #silly
Enough of that ;)

300/365 Letters 96

Dear Franklin,
Whoa.
Okay, that was unexpected and pretty warranted. So many things I want to say.

Thank you would probably be the first. As annoyed as I was at the situation, I really appreciated you caring enough about me to check where I was with my feelings. It means a lot to me, the way stop me from running and  try your best to give me what I need. That tells me that you are wanting to stick around and be there for me. Just from the way you held me tells me that. I NEED to know that. So thank you.

I told you that it felt good to have you holding me and that I didn't know if that was helping long run or not. It doesn't. You're gonna have to hard on me but not really at the same time. It's mostly the things I have to do. You're probably right, I am affection with my friends but with you and Kyle it's on another level mostly because I want to fulfill that craving my feelings give me. I didn't think there was anything wrong with that as long as we weren't physically crossing the line and I still felt satisfied. I could still be right about that but it's more probable that there needs to be more of a strict line between friendship and a relationship. Maybe my feelings will go away or at least decrease.

Speaking of my feelings,let's not talk about them anymore. I have them, I'm aware of them and there power. Trust me, I've done this before. If they get to be too much and I need your help, I will let you know. Otherwise, don't assume that there's something going on because I will tell you if there is. Just assume the feelings a depleting at a reasonable pace and eventually they will be very closed to gone.

I'm working on it, k? So don't worry about it.

299/365 Erotic Piece Re-visited

On our first date,
when I showed him my chastity necklace,
you asked me,
“Why would anyone ever choose to be celibate.”
My answer is as follows,

In the months leading up to my wedding,
there will be much debate about honey moons in Fiji,
or the Virgin Islands.
but we will settle for the fortress of our own home.

And while most couples need but one night to consummate their love,
I ask that you do not try and contact me for at least
seven days.
Here’s why…

On my wedding night,
If he does not sink into my quick sand lips,
or Hawaiian sunsmile.
It will be my desert hips
and Amazon thighs to do him.
Because there is no island on this planet that you can get more lost than than my body,
I give three days to realize this fact.

Three days to treat our bed like an episode of Lost,
fully-aware
that at every turn there is a sexual beast waiting to devour him.

I will watch him morph into an explorer before my eyes
with the hands of an archeologist,
he will treat my body like an ancient temple
because he know at the site of it,
that nothing was more carefully constructed.

His mere breath on my ear will curve my neck,
arch my back,
curls my toes
and when I beg his name
He will tell me to be patient.
run his hands down my torso
and remind me
every artist knows their canvass long before they wet their instrument.
Consequently,
he will have worshipped the doors of my temple years before he opens them

For his patience
My praying legs will reward open prayers to his saintly fingertips
He will be the first to ever tell me that my natural juices smell like wine
meaning he
is God ordained to get drunk off my essence.
I will beg him not to drink responsibly on this night
where I’m the designated driver and I vow to make him my stick shift until his engine stutters
and explodes.

By day 4,
He will have entered me.
Less like a frantic moth to a flame,
more like a thread to a needle
because when I wet the tip
I find nothing but deliberance in his hard on.

He cums slowly.
Makes a moan like a breeze slipping through heaven’s orchids.

No one can convince me they’d know how to please my body better than my soul mate,
Cause truth be known that the average climax is far too low for my taste,
until he’s bangin’ my body up against the pearly gates because
sometimes you just want it rough
Poetry aside

Until our sweat drips Salvador Dali into clouds and it’s raining clocks,
7day can easily melt into seven months.

In short,
I am saving myself,
because I am well worth the wait.

298/365 Perhaps a screenplay idea

-he's directing and yelling at an actor
-she enters
-the actor looks at her
-he snaps his fingers for actor's attention
-actor gives it
-she exits
-cries in garden
-goes home
-...

297/365 Preface to a piece I have not written

Those people who say, “Everything bad happens to me,” and “No matter what my life is so bleak,” “I can’t catch a break,” everything crumbles around me,” “It’s everyone else’s fault,” that type of talk. People who are unwilling to realize when they’re fucking up. And when things kind of fall apart around them and they come whining to you and you just wanna be like, “Eh well, you’re kind of fuckin’ up.” “No it’s because-“ '”Uh, see right there, there it is again. You’re fuckin’ up, ugh, ugh, stop fuckin up. lkfjl;kajfal;jlkjlkj fuckin up.” You know, those types of people.
And if this sounds like you or anything you’ve said recently, recognize yourself. We all have to do it. At some point in everyone’s life, habits are developed that you have to sit back and say, “Shit, I’m fuckin up.” And then make moves to change it. It has all been done before, trust me.
So if that does sound like you, this is FOR you.

296/365 In the Event of Letting Go who you've never wanted to be

But some how became


Know where the exits are at all time.
USE THEM
Remember,
where there is an exit
there is an entrance.

Except in special cases
like movie theaters
There will be some doors will leave you without a door knob.

Do NOT panic.
Walk around the building,
you will find what you are looking for.

In the process,
do not be afraid to smell the flowers.
If the weather is nice,
do not rush to shelter
because you are relishing a storm that has already past.

Which brings me to my next point.
NEVER wear sunglasses.
It is too comfort to put shades over your soul,
but then you will never see the light.

295/365 More Erotic

Traces his fingers down the hieroglyphs of my back,
pen to paper,
ink to quill
He reminds me why poetry was ever invented in the first place.

And saying his name becomes a gospel hymn arched in ecstasy,
Until heaven in hell unite on the flames that weld our sacred bond.
Until he is banging my body up against the pearly gates.

294/365 In-the-moment free-write

What do I need to tell Kyle right now.
I see us being friends again over time and I'm cool with that and I would like for that to happen. I'd be cool with you kicking it at my friends house in San Francisco and all of that.
Here's the thing, I care about you a lot and I love you a lot and for me, that means I'm going to be there and anything you need I am 100% there for you, that what friendship means to me right? It's an army of people to have your back and I won't call someone that sacred name if I don't feel like they have earned it.
We haven't really talked in awhile and there was that time in San Fran when we weren't talking, I've changed the way that I handle relationships. I'm stronger and I don't take crap from people no matter how much I love them. I want you to stay around, but I DON'T need you.
You know me, so you should know by now that when I love you, I give the best of myself, all of myself. And you should also know that when you get the best of me, you're getting the best of the best. Don't take that for granted because I'm not afraid to take away that privilege.
Of course, as much as I don't need you, you don't need me either. So if you don't think I am worth the hassle, tell me now and we can both save a lot of time.

293/365 Letters 95

Dear Kyle,
Notice that I have not returned your "I love you"'s in sometime.
I have not been so moved.
This is not because I don't love you, far from.
To reply "I love you too" would give credit to your words.
Show me a love that will drive 20 minutes to your house just to have a conversation.
Show me a love that craves spending time,
that would look up information to the Butterfly Pavillion or arranged a day to watch the sun rise just to keep a promise.
Show me a love that calls and texts every month in awhile.
Show me a love that would jump through hoops at the very utterance of unhappiness.
Show me a fraction of the love I have shown you since the day, the very day, I told you I loved you.
Show me that, and then maybe we can have a conversation.

You may love me,
but you're love is pathetic.
I am thoroughly unmoved.

292/365 BNV 2010 5 {Follow Me}

A bust line with nowhere to spill but over,
she walks with the footprints of "follow me" trailed behind her back.
A gaze labeled lazer beam, "fuck me"
and a broken, leaning smile,
that loves to toy with you.
She'd never give it up,
not until you truly deserve it
and most don't stick around for long enough
but she chuckles watching them leave because she knows the magic she has hidden between her legs.

It's the kind of gold rainbows wish they could capture,
many a leprechaun has chased after,
but believe me,
there is a story in her swagger.

Has to do with a missing father
and his replacement.
Lack of hugs
and the hands she was raped with.
It's unneerving to find out what the swing of her hips is laced with.
She wants the love of a man
but not the pain.
But every example she's ever been given
was all the same.

So she wears small shorts
and innocent smiles.
Prays for a father card out the deck but pulls a wild.

She is a Queen with a missing crown.
A Goddess who doesn't know where she came from.
Angel with stolen wings.
Amazonian princess with a missing bow.

She's fallen so far from grace
that she's begun to think that the way people blindly treat her
has anything to do with the beauty she was born with.

She wears sexuality like a tradgedy
and when she call her beautiful
she takes it as a threat.

And on the days when she feels it's true
are the worst because then it's her fault.

291/365 BNV 2010 4

And I guess after the father leaves,
all you really want is to belong to someone.
And for them to actually claim you.
The term girlfriend almost holds
that same attachment but how
messed up is dating the people
You wish were your father....

290/365 BNV 2010 3

Too callous to feel that this growing was worth it.
Callous is rough and ugly.
But so necessary,
You don't get cut with callous.
You don't get bruises with callous.
You can't feel anything.

Not the rain,
not love nor lost.
Touch me all you want.
Rip clothes off me
and dig your nails in.
I won't be able to feel it.
You won't be able to hurt me.

And if you caress me gently
I'll feel it even less....

289/365 BNV 2010 2

Don't wanna be a victim but don't wanna be too hardened.

288/365 BNV 2010 1

She'll grow up to tell them she loves them but would rather they not touch her.

287/365 What he's NOT thinking when he's watching you dance

Hmmm, I wanna take that out to dinner,
ooh, I would open the door for her.
I would respect the crap out of her, ugh.
I would pull out her chair open her door and PAY!
I would not kiss her until the third date!!!!

286/365 10 Things I Want to Say to Megan Rickman

1. I'm sorry I hate all you Keebler cookies. ...they were delicious

285/365 Letters 94

Dear Theo,
It's unfair of me to write this but I can't keep quiet. I fought myself so much on this since the day in Jamba when you told me we couldn't be friends outside of poetry because of Tiffany. So I've spent a year and a half side-stepping you, thinking if I have a private conversation with you, I would somehow be disrespecting your girl. I don't ever want to do that.

The funny thing is, what I've been dying to say to you is not even romantic. I know that's hard to believe considering...everything. But I don't know how to convince you without having you think I'm getting close to you with some malintent. I'm not like that and I wish you knew me.

Anyway, I'm gonna get to the point. I'm mad that when I got to San Francisco I missed you more than anyone. I'm mad that I've had conversations with you when you're not around that I wish I could have with you in person. And I know that is RIDICULOUS because I don't even know you. But that's the problem. Maybe if I knew you I wouldn't be so obsessed with just wanting to know you. I don't know what I"m asking you for right now and I know how idiotic this entire thing has to be to you. It's ridiculous, I know. All I'm asking is that you acknowledge it.
~B. Dreamer
#stopchasing

283/365 And so it is...

Dear Youth,

My bad for thinking I could escape you.

You win.

282/365 Ideas

*I'm sorry, but whoa...script idea
"Hey"
"hey" *rolls eyes*
"How are you?"
"I'm wonderful. How are you?"
"Good, good. Can't complain., How are the men treating you, better?
"Yeah, they're alright...."
"Look, I know I was being ignorant because we were drunk and everything but. Take your time, it'll come."
"Thank you...I didn't think I'd ever hear that coming from you."
"Well, I had to think about it."
"That's good."

-"Never again will a single story be told as if it is the only one."-John Berger

281/365 Free-write from Jovan's work-shop

I have a pen in my pocket to trace snowflakes falling outside my window but once they hit the horizon,
they fade into ice caps for the mountains
that are so far from my house but so near to my mind.
It’s nearing Christmas and instead of snowflakes I am tracing branches hit the falling from the Christmas tree ripped from mother nature’s body and erected in Union Square like some sort of victory tribute. These snowflakes are made of paper and the fog San Francisco shoves into my face as if my tears weird enough.
I am missing the sound of my mother nagging my step-dad for not putting up the small but fake Christmas tree into our living room.
I’m missing my dog barking at our guest.
---San Francisco tears from the Bay and wraps me in sadness on the mornings when I think I might not make it.
I am swimming though tidal waves just to make it to my bed dripping wet in depression. I slide the sopping clothes off of my skin and slide into bed and immediately feel a significant dryness my throat.-------

280/365 Dear Journal free-write

Dear Journal,
Hello again. This isn’t the first time I have written to you and I am sure you feel you know me very well. You’re right. You know just about everything about me. Like how you knew I’d begin regretting cutting him off. Like how you know how good of an idea it actually is. How you know that my body shivelres up inside itself every time I think of someone touching my flesh with or without welcome. You know how much I love him. How much I miss her. I feel this is in vain.
Questions
How are you though? We talk a lot about me and I never get to really hear about your life. I feel your energy. Feel the weight of how light you make me, your beauty. Do you fully realize how beautiful you are? How much I went through just to call you my own? Do you know how I wish to be treated that way? To have someone go through something to call me theirs? To be taken wherever someone goes? To be wanted there? I want you like that? I bad with possessions though. Especially you. You don’t resent that do you? Do you feel how much you mean to me? How lost and sad I would be without you? Do feel how lost and sad I am beginning to feel without him? Am I wrong to feel that way? Do you know what I should do?
Current
Love, would be an understatement as well as an unnecessary cliché. Let’s say I lovvem you. That’s two v’s as in very, very and an “m” for much. You are important to say the least. An extension of myself. When I lost you. I felt phantom pains, tried to go on as though nothing had happen as we learn in situations of lost that we must. Why is it that we have to learn that? But I have never fully lost anything. Not even you. Not Reggie, not Jeremy, not Coby or Kyle. I have never known true lost. Except virginity. But does that really count? I’ve never had a run in with death or war that stole something directly from my home.
Society
in speaking war. in speaking of my heart and brain. you have been the bridge between the two. never has there been less causalities in war. we fight the war revolutionist have been looking for. The war where change equals growth and no one profit from the dying. We wage the war not fueled on the blood of Indians
Future
Hmm, in the next three minutes you will probably still be in my bag. That’s the future right? I kid, I kid, I joke, I joke. Alright listen. You will see me grow in slow motion. You will see me leave behind all the things that you’ve told me time and time again will only hurt me. You will see me confide as much as I always have and I will watch you beg me to learn my lessons quickly so that we can move on. You will watch me become increasingly more hard headed and continue never to learn my lesson and if I do, I will learn the same lesson at least twice. You will role your eyes when this happens and I will laugh and the fact that it has.

279/365 About Me

-I have little sense of heritage and an even more narrow view of revolution
I am not yet willing to step out of my house to take a bullet for my beliefs are not yet bullet worthy
I am no Malcolm X,
but I’ve picked up a copy of the Roots and been listening to a lot more Saul Williams,
but the reading though enthralling,
has left me feeling disconnected
and I’m not sure half the time what Saul is attempting to tell me.
I have a very vague idea of who KRS-One
and I’m not even sure if these things are related
I am even less sure how they relate to me
-I wear scarves on my head like head-wraps sometimes,
and I snap at things in poetry that sound pro-black.
I call myself goddess but have revoked that title because I don’t know how to float.
I have only recently begun to define a b

278/365 Homesickness Wisdom

In truth. It’s not him you miss. It’s not him you’re stressing about. It’s home. You’re trying to be somewhere you’re not. Of course that’s going to cause stress.

Don’t let your mind get weary and confuse your soul, be still don’t try.

Stop making it about him. Let it go. Be here now. Lest you find yourself perpetually unhappy. What if you’d never lived in Denver? What if this was your home? Your life? The only life you ever knew? You’d love it wouldn’t you? Because you make the best out of where you are. That’s the goal. Now live it!!!!
Hey, also: word to the wise: Facebook solves nothing. Face it; you’ve done extensive research and it’s been proven. LEAVE ALL THAT STRESS ALONE!

277/365 Auto-bio question

1. What made you become an artist?
-We’re always asked it, someone dipping there noes down at us, classes looking as though they are about to slide off, “What on earth made you want to become an artist?” My answer is simple. It usually starts with a chuckle as I acknowledge the futility of explaining something so innate to myself and knowing that a non-artist (a species that I secretly believe does not exist)

276/365 Scraps

You think about a good Revolutionary poem. The structure of it, the feeling the audience gets, how it was crafted, what it accomplishes. You think about the poems that evoke the most change and you’ll find an unbreakable thread that stretches through all of them. They start the personal. The author speaks from the heart, from experience is
When I put my poems side-by-side--evaluate the structure, how it was crafted, what it is meant to accomplish, –I see a bond between them, an unbreakable thread, what makes them part of the genre I would like to call Revolutionary.
The structure is unmistakable. They start with the personal. I speak from the heart, from experience, bear my soul and through vulnerability, find the innocence of a child. The innocence of trust.
The poem can not deal in revolution if it not does introduce a problem. A painful problem; inhumane, unjust. A problem that someone or several some ones are enduring. Consider, without this problem, the poem would not exist. Now as must would not wish that the problem existed, we cannot deny that a small part of us celebrates in the fact that it does because without it, the poem, the emotions stirred in us and the community formed to eradicate said problem would never have formed. And if it had not, the intuitive beings that we are would have surely missed it, even if we were unsure what we were missing.
These poems create an

Now forgive

275/365 Domestic Violence 2 (free-write)

You were the termite my mahogany never saw coming.
I thought I was strong,
but you were sweet,
you smelled like the cherry wood I had always wanted by my side,
you talked of a house,
on the side of a mountaintop where we could see or children grow and the sky curvem.

I remember vividly the first time you took a bite out of my stomach.
It had have been an omen,
no one else had ever made me feel that sort of pain.
It made you special.
I stuck around to find out what such pain could mean.

You had a look,
that could make me forget my thoughts,
stumble over my words
until I gave up and remained silent.
Often times it was because you were just too lazy
to strangle the words out of me.

I still ache for your teeth marks on my wrists,
your hand gripping my neck
and your fist,
thrust through the wall next to me.

And baby,
I hate that things are so organized without you
I miss the blood stains on the towels hanging from the railing in my bathroom,
miss the pictures filled with broken glass.

I miss your salty lies in the corner of my mouth,
still miss you pinning me to the bed,
I still miss sex feeling like rape
I like it when I have something to cry about,
like it when the blood reminds me of my life,
I liked finding pieces of my flesh left in your teeth.
I makes me feel like I belong to you.

274/365 Lupus poem

There is a disease called wolf,
teeth the size of IV needles
and a roar as torturous as LCD monitors.

It wears butterflies across it’s face
flapped wings taunting.
I have heard the stories of conquering sheep.
Of ewes and tups wrestling full size
illuding hunters strategy such as strokes, heart attacks and immune system shut downs.

I have heard tales,
of innocent creatures being attack by this beast.
My friend is 17 years old and diagnosed,
things look bleek,
but I’ve heard too many story.
Too many stories,
too many,
“I wrestle with the beast every day,
every day is a battle in hopes that I can win some unforeseen war.
Be able to see my grand-kids,
to live a full life.
To wrap arms around my Shepard and here Him tell me well done”
I’ve heard too many Horus versus Set proclamations for those deemed too weak to face a lycan.

There are too many hooves prints marking this monster for me to think him untouchable.
There is hope.
I was once told if you don’t know the answer,
read a book.

So I take comfort in David in Goliath,
Good conquers evil.

I take comfort in the cosmic qualities of synchronicities.
I’ve heard too many allegories and compositions
of sheep staring wolves in the eyes and refusing to back down.
I’ve met too many women,
with wool woven hair,
and galaxy painted cheeks.
Black sheep,
in the sense that they are the only ones
with the ability to take down a wolf.

I’ve heard so many stories.
Of the impossible.

273/365 Letters 93

Dear Franklin,
Remember that night outside the Merc when I told you every time I wanted to pull you away I ended up pulling you closer. Yeah, it's like that.

272/365 Letters 92

Dear Kyle,
You deserve mercy. Nothing you has done warrants me forcing you to leave my life.

I need you to leave my life.

Needless to say, and completely cliche to say, it's not you....*shrug*

271/365 Good snapshot

So sit with it. Don’t ignore it. Don’t hide it from yourself or your journal out of some shame. Own up to what you’re feeling right now. That’s probably why you keep falling into these relapses. The first step to any step is to admit, admit and admit again. In that regard, Ayinde was right. I need to sit with the part of me that is so led to these guys I fully know are not good for me. Ignoring it doesn’t take away its power. Facing it does.
I miss him. I REALLY want to know how he is doing. I’ve been thinking about calling him for awhile now and I’ve sat with that thought for the past 20 hours which has only served to make it worse. I want to hear his voice so badly. Have a conversation like we used to. It doesn’t matter too much now because Pascal is back which means I can’t steal his phone. Of course, it’s still worth it to sit with it because it’s not like I won’t have any other opportunities and it’s not like that feeling will go away just because I don’t have a phone. So let’s sit with it and stop rushing to get rid of what I’m feeling right now.
It’s killing me not knowing how he is. Like genuinely hurting me. And to spend time with him right now would make me so happy. How can I make this work? It also has to do with the fact that I’m kind of lonely and I want to have someone to turn to. That’s why I am kind of shying away from doing this.

270/365 Seduction 1

When I kiss him,
his knees buckled then dissolve.
I bruised him,
sucked poems into his skin
with my razor PEN teeth

And as I watched the words settle,
watch the wounds heal,
I kiss the spot
just to see the ripples
the venom from my lips create
I was just admiring harmless art work.
Taking cues from my own bodies cravings,
giving him the only things he desired.

And I love,
with a love you will never experience.
Dive into moments with no air ,
take breaths and let thick,
unyielding LIQUID fill up my lungs.
I have not been able to breathe correctly since I first time I fell for a man.
You fake orgasms while I fake good-byes.
Fake strength.
Fake the ability to look at a man and pass him by
as though the planets in his eyes weren’t enough to command my steps.

I am sun on earth,
my skin burns like fire,
boys should not play with fire,
and a fire can not control it burning once it has received oxygen
his breath on my neck has always seemed to fuel my flame.

They have tried to tame pure fire,
thought me a candle,
blew into my ear thinking it could blow me out.
I am an inferno,
there week attempts to control me have only fanned my flames.
I appreciate the coolness of their breath.
It is small yes,
but refreshing against this constant self incineration.
I did not ask for this constant smolder in my eyes,
fever in my touch
nor the heat waves the rhythm of my walk creates,
I do not reshape my footprints or watch them form.
The impression I left on you was unintentional but it was obvious my memory was consistently burning in your mind.
But I know they write the words “follow me” in the dust.
I did not ask for the laser beam gaze labeled “fuck me”
or this broken leaning smile that toys with them.
When I said “take me,”
what I really meant was “marry me.”
When I said, “kiss my neck,”
what I really meant was “love me.”

They take my words to literally.
They don’t weed out my words
from the words this world fed me the moment I was announced as girl.

Forbidden fruit hang from my chest
and I swear Adam tasted them first.

-Leave his soiled print on your body so you can show it as proof someone can possibly love you.
Forget that don't!
Forget that they never will.
Don't ever begin to realize no one will ever love you if you don't love yourself.
We snicker behind his back and call him Judas but you don't notice cause you're too busy hoping he'll kiss you.with your short skirts and flirtatious smiles you're tempting death. If that kiss crucified Jesus what makes you think you think you're any stronger, it won't be much longer. So keep hikin' up that skirt. Wear confidence like it's eye shadow and cake that shit on cause you know you need a lot.
*I don”t go trying to find these men
suckers seek me out
I think you were under the impression that I was someone you could take down. Honey, I am Poison Ivy’s long lost sister and Cruella’s distant cousin, call me Fleur D’evil. I have venom dripping from my lips, I wear the dog collars of men I’ve obtained around my wrist and you are just as easy to cease as they ever were. Forget-me-nots…

269/365 Letters 91

Dear Franklin,

My entire body hurts.
One thing separates you from the other guys I've been able to let go of is your friendship is actually worth keeping.
I am not the type of person capable of faking love without actually giving a piece of myself.

268/365 Important Journal Entry

February 15, 2011
Ok, so I've been talking about rape. My distance and (some would go so far as to say) apathy about it has got some peoples' panties in a twist. Don't get me wrong, the last thing I want to do is step on the toes of someone's comping process, but am I not allowed to deal with in my own way? I'm a 'look at the bright side' type of person and I don't consider it worth it to be so enveloped in the pain that you can't see the pleasure. The pleasure in saying, yeah, I went through it and I'm still standing (not to mention awesome) and though it's apart of me, "rape victim" doesn't define me. I guess I'm looking at the bright side so much that I forget what it was like be sitting in the fetal position in the darkest corner of a locked room praying to God no one picked the lock and let enough light in to let the world see me. It wasn't long ago that I was there. But you serve what you fear and because I am not apt to serving anyone or thing, I don't fear light anymore. I don't fear my own, power, nor do I deny having it.
Every "victim" (hate that word) I've ever talked to has admitted they never publicly shared (or thought they had the strength to share) their story. I put that stuff on blast. Share it in front of as many people as my coaches would let me and tagged as many people on Facebook as I thought would read it. I put myself on B-LAST(!) to let myself and everybody else know that I wasn't hiding anymore. I've left that dark room and forget going back! I was really hard on myself to leave that room so I guess that's why I'm so hard on everyone else.

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm keeping myself arm's length away because I'm avoiding something, some gem of an emotion that's left over from the pressure that I haven't fully discovered yet. Wouldn't be the first time. Therapy should help uncover that answer. But if I'm right, I'm picking as many locks as I can and not stopping until no one is afraid of light....or I'm dead...probably the latter.

267/365 To the Other Woman 4

To the other woman,

The first time he mentioned your name,
I imagined something more impressive
than this.

In fact,
the first time he even told me you existed,
I had to think I'd be looking at someone who could even fake my stature.

Child,
I bet your frail bones creak more than the bed when he makes love to you.,
You are more wet behind the ears than he could ever get you wet in-between your legs,
and your hands

are nowhere near long enough to do the job mine's do.

But when I watched your tiny hand
replace mine in his
my sweat took on colors
and a mind of it's own.

Rush delivered itself to the places his torso would miss the most.

Like the palms of my hands.
I curved my wrist
and let Salvador slip to my fingertips
and traced the places of my room where he left his scent
to leave these concrete reminders that he had ever been there in the first place
so that I wouldn't drive myself crazy
swiping at memories like mirages.

And if you ever catch yourself
wishing your hands could get as sweaty as mine (do)
when you feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck,
I want you to pretend.

Pretend you are familiar with slow touch of a man
who can make you orgasm with just the heat in his fingertips,
a caress with a butterfly effect
setting off tidal waves miles down my spine,

Your spine slouches under a weight it is not (yet) mature enough to carry,

wear his love like a burden,
do you grow tired of bending over?

showing men your pink thong
beneath the frilly tutu you never gave yourself
the time to grow out of.

wearing make-up and skimpy clothing
to grab the attention of men thrice your age.
What is wrong with you child?
Did your daddy not give you enough attention?

I don’t know how long you’ve known him,
rest assure,
I know him better
You will never know a man deeper than when you are forced to lay next to him without touching,
When the distance between your bodies is no longer measured in inches but the miles in his silence.
And I’ve watched you
skip around because he writes you silly little love poems
you may be his inspiration
but I taught him how to write,
how to please with three fingers.
Believe, every trick he knows
is thanks to me.

If you insist upon being with him
Know that when he says he understands
what he really means is that he feels it.
Memorize the melody in his voice,
because it won’t belong before his boa constrictor silence
makes a home around your neck,
quit your boundless skipping.

That solid ground you are so used to is only a cutting glance away from eggshells
Forget everything you thought would be your perfect ending,
because is he could really be finished with me,
he can surely grow tired of you.

266/365 Important Journal Entry 2

April 14, 2011
I just wonder if I am making too big a deal out of this. There's a question that has been gloating in my head for sometime now. I haven't been able to get a hold of it yet, to ground it. Maybe I'm avoiding because it's a social taboo because it can be insulting to other survivors and it can be argued that what I am about to say is completely immoral. But you're mine, so at least I'll say it here.

Would I think my sexual abuse was so bad, if no one told me it was wrong? If no one told me how I would feel or the problems I would feel or the problems I would have as an adult, would I feel them?

It's kind of a hard question to answer and there's no way to really tell but I think about it. The mind is a powerful thing. What you think, you shall be. I dated Kyle right after talking to Ladi about the adverse affects of her sexual abuse. Viable, I'm sure, but I immediately made her problems mine. Partly because I wanted to "fit in" with sexual abuse survivors, partly because I like attention and sexual abuse stories are attention seeking missiles and partly because, I thought that's how things were.

Thank God for language and fanciful writing, can make an ugly thing sound so pretty.

265/365 Coping 7

is all part of the world others have created
and I've always been one for getting my hands dirty.
To feel soil
and taste sweat
and maybe
with that attitude
I could build a world to match my optimistic perspective

It would choose nature over concrete
so we can stop paving over paradise.

264/365 Letters 90

Dear Kyle,
*deep breath* This is not easy to say. I've been avoiding this statement for approximately eleven months. Can we finally be honest? It was about lust dude... and there are plenty of reasons that surrounded it, plenty of past baggage that made things what they were, but does it really matter? Truth is; they were.

I cannot describe to you the sorrow I feel not that I know this is true. I used you. I don't know how else I can say that.

You taught me a lot about myself, my wounds, my body and sexuality. You taught me a lot about this world and my own thoughts of it.

Needless to say,
I'm sorry

263/365 Coping 6

There is some part of me so strong and stubborn
it refuses to let some worthless man affect me decades after he's touched me.

262/365 Coping 5

...like out talks together.
The more we feel guilty about putting frivolous tones to tragedy
the more we dig trenches
in our bodies
and seep into the darkness.

He doesn't mean to make light of suicide bombers
or the human torches of Tibet
and I don't mean to downplay epidemics in Sudan
or the women muffled and mutilated in alleys I drive by daily

But there is something about being violated in a place of comfort
that leaves a choice of which one I want remember.
There's something about being raped in your childhood bedroom
and being the hand that feeds the pills that ends your life,
that makes all of this easier to swallow.

I still have fond memories of that bedroom
and at least he chose his destinies.
But we're not allowed to say such disrespectful things in public
so we dig through psychology books and therapy sessions
trying to tie burdens to our wings
and not let go of this earth,
of pain,
of the suffering they expect us to feel lest they think us inhuman,

He stands at the edge of buildings wanting to feel a little less than human,
I stand at the edge of my mind feeling a bit more human,
feeling like I can fly,
feeling like the gravity cementing me to my past
has always been a choice.

This has got to be how people feel right before they're institutionalized
but I'm thinking there's got to be some validity in insanity
and this is crazy.

250/365 Balance

I'm trying to avoid sweeping notions
because it's leaves whirlpoolic
of black holes open to suck me into extremeties.

261/365 Legacy

I thought I could never talk to you because I'm not fluent in the language of legacy.
Only a few things like "hi," "bye," and "how ar you."
I don't even know the proper response to the latter.

But I've realized,
that you also speak English
you genius multi-linguial
So we can talk

260/365 Coping 4

A hand gripped around your neck will always feel like choking,
but isn't it at least a little different when it's in ecstasy.

Or when I've never had a mirror
that could shoe me the scars
but plenty of people to tell me different stories about what they look like
and each one gets uglier and uglier

259/365 Coping 3

They described house rattling screaming
and a blood stained bed.

All I remember is a rose
bloomed, plucked,
 left to dry and crumble.

They tell me it would have smelled like grimy sweat
and rotting innocence
but my skin still smells like perfume
.
I've heard a rose is still a rose,
Even if it's crushed into dust
but I don't really feel all that broken most of the time.

People describe to me how I should feel,
and I'm pretty good at convincing myself it's real.

258/365 Coping 2

I'm too old to remember how I lost my virginity
So people tell me what it was like
how it must have felt
whose fault it was.

257/365 Coping 1

He tells me
suicide
isn't as negative as it sounds.

I tell him neither is rape.
I figure one of us has got to be right.

So we compare scars and sob stories in a bed of pure laughter
and as we lay below the gallows,
we tell each other how wonderful it feels to get attention for the wounds in our skin we've always thought were normal.

We wonder,
 if no one ever told us these were ugly
would we hide them so often.

We don't know the answer to this question.
And after being so involved in these societies
of societal rebels,
were getting confused about which societies to rebel against.

256/365 Random Idea

Has anyone ever told you how much of an asshole you are?
NO?!
Allow me to be the first!