I don’t know the history of my own skin.
Still I wear it like a favorite garment,
though I have long since forgot where it came from.
I wonder if it’s a insult to my ancestor’s cultures to wear it proudly without knowing it’s history,
I wonder if it is sacrilegious to wear head wraps as fashion statements on the days I don’t feel like combing my hair…
Saturday, July 30, 2011
343/365 Agape (Just to prove I'm worthy)
When sand dunes form in my skin,
When the silver lining I’ve spent most of my life pursuing finally makes it’s way home into my scalp
and dresses in an argent halo,
When the color of my skin can no longer be distinguished form beauty marks
and laugh lines.
When my body becomes one long novel of a purposed fulfilled.
Do not remember the girl you fell in love with.
Forget her boundless wind tunes
and butterfly whims,
the way she loved like a breeze,
caressing whomever crossed her path
irregardless of whether they deserved it.
Forget the skin, silk, cascade.
View me as I am,
who I have become,
folds and all,
creases and all.
Hold me morning dew.
Magnify each vein pore and wrinkle
spiral down,
flow with it’s curves,
margins and ripples
cradle the barren riverbanks.
I am God’s first fingerprint
revealed after decades of forensics
The wind of a lifetime has brushed away dust
Revealing the hieroglyphics dating me for you.
I was carved for you,
out of mahogany red tree
a totem pole of stories
just for you to read.
Read here,
where wind tunes composed symphonies,
where butterfly whims stretched eagle’s wings.
And here,
where my love graduates from breeze to typhoon
Twisters and natural disasters have threatened my frame
and we have weathered these storms together.
There have been nights when your anger kept you from our home,
days
when pride kept me from you arms.
We have had moments,
when I’d rather claim I don’t need you
than acknowledge the longing I feel without you
and every smooth place on my skin is a regret.
There should be evidence of life there.
Wrinkles and stretch marks,
proof of us.
Scars and sand dunes,
proof of war and peace.
And scorch marks,
proof of just where my glass blown skin comes from.
I’ve always wanted to be loved just the way you love me,
Down to my very hands
and eyebrow frays,
admiration of the things I was made from.
I turn Savannah sand in your hands.
When you bulldozer,
brown eyes target mine,
I am Jericho,
Berlin,
Roman Empire.
So when my knees crumble,
when my bones creak like summer rocking chairs,
and thirsty screen doors.
When the compilation of desert storm has succeeded to blur my vision,
sing to me,
because your voice is the closest thing to a Denver sunrise.
And I promise,
I will write you love poems in the form of dragging heels,
and folded smiles,
when I am just crumbled,
origami version of my former self
With the slow beauty of a consistent sunset,
fall in love with me
again.
Friday, July 29, 2011
342/365 Water 1
Flipped over,
world spinning the table slit my wrist
like a suicide alert I would never become.
These are the consequences of losing you head in you heart,
look deep within the ventricles and chambers.
I had a sore on my wrist seven weeks,
It opened up everytime my mind wandered through my heart again,
every time ecstasy wrapped itself around my body like water,
making me feel weightless
and invincible
when I was all too close to drowning.
And about drowning...
My love is rough
and unruly
like a cactus shell.
If you hold me,
I will sink into you flesh unwarranted,
cling to you like lungs to air.
and if you can get past my dried to jagged
edges,
their is a wealth of water deep within the cavity of my womb.
Do not grow comfortable when you find this.
if you sink into it's beauty
you will drown.
It was not meant for you
I did not swallow full oceans at birth
just to ease your thirst.
You are selfish,
and I have let you be.
Slit myself open,
placed my well to your desert lips.
You complained of being disatisfied,
threatened to find another canteen.
I can not stop the power of my love once it is unleashed,
You will drown before you reach the door.
This love was not meant for men,
it was made for me...
world spinning the table slit my wrist
like a suicide alert I would never become.
These are the consequences of losing you head in you heart,
look deep within the ventricles and chambers.
I had a sore on my wrist seven weeks,
It opened up everytime my mind wandered through my heart again,
every time ecstasy wrapped itself around my body like water,
making me feel weightless
and invincible
when I was all too close to drowning.
And about drowning...
My love is rough
and unruly
like a cactus shell.
If you hold me,
I will sink into you flesh unwarranted,
cling to you like lungs to air.
and if you can get past my dried to jagged
edges,
their is a wealth of water deep within the cavity of my womb.
Do not grow comfortable when you find this.
if you sink into it's beauty
you will drown.
It was not meant for you
I did not swallow full oceans at birth
just to ease your thirst.
You are selfish,
and I have let you be.
Slit myself open,
placed my well to your desert lips.
You complained of being disatisfied,
threatened to find another canteen.
I can not stop the power of my love once it is unleashed,
You will drown before you reach the door.
This love was not meant for men,
it was made for me...
341/365 Letters 102
Dear Reggie,
Sort of strange isn't it?
The way every relationship you have still manages to grapevine it's way back to me?
#hauntingmeafterdeath
Sort of strange isn't it?
The way every relationship you have still manages to grapevine it's way back to me?
#hauntingmeafterdeath
340/365 Short Poem
I was laying down a personalized path to the insane asylum down the street
when you called.
You asked me if I were busy....
And I told you,
I was barring the cage to my own isolation chamber
When you showed up
I was hand-crafting my coffin
When you knocked
I didn't expect you
I resented your presence.
I am so glad
you are here.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
339/365 Free-write
We're holding on to air hoping it won't slip through our fingers,
gripping so hard
and crying.
Holding on to the smell of what used to be us,
all that's left,
is empty space.
Let go.
gripping so hard
and crying.
Holding on to the smell of what used to be us,
all that's left,
is empty space.
Let go.
338/365 David Blair
David Blair.
I didn't know you,
though I think I might have hugged you once...
I don't know how you died.
All I know is in your the last breath
you swallowed
everything I loved about this city.
Like the miraculous way my mentor's smile transmits through telephone wires,
the way my coaches caring "hello" reverberates against silence,
and the way they call Luz carries such light.
In the days before you died,
you had never inhabited my mind so much,
had a phantom poem playing in my head,
Ken read it to us in his apartment a week before you passed.
I didn't know you,
though I think I might have hugged you once...
I don't know how you died.
All I know is in your the last breath
you swallowed
everything I loved about this city.
Like the miraculous way my mentor's smile transmits through telephone wires,
the way my coaches caring "hello" reverberates against silence,
and the way they call Luz carries such light.
In the days before you died,
you had never inhabited my mind so much,
had a phantom poem playing in my head,
Ken read it to us in his apartment a week before you passed.
337/365 Water Scraps 2
*The Sufi tell stories of timeless proportions,
each one a gem
ready to place value to all
lives willing to cradle
their worth with diligence.
But like many things,
it takes time
and great effort
to have them grow
each one a gem
ready to place value to all
lives willing to cradle
their worth with diligence.
But like many things,
it takes time
and great effort
to have them grow
337/365 Universe's love stuck in my throat
I find that heavy emotions make me feel more important when universe of love gets stuck in my throat
and I form words around the air being constricted I lover the feeling of mass and meaning being anchored in a sea of your own self-doubt.
I like drowning, like the thought of how many people would miss if I were gone.
The idea seems to give my life purpose,
but I'll never live to witness it.
and I form words around the air being constricted I lover the feeling of mass and meaning being anchored in a sea of your own self-doubt.
I like drowning, like the thought of how many people would miss if I were gone.
The idea seems to give my life purpose,
but I'll never live to witness it.
336/365 Pebbles
In the grand scheme, we are so small. We are pebbles thrown at the Sagrada Famillia.
We will never even make a dent to this beautiful structure.
So why do we say end of the world like it wasn't here before us.
Like it won't be here long after.
It just may not be called world,
it will called names far more beautiful.
Like the wind's blessed breath,
the inhale,
exhale,
of the trees.
It will be given better praises
than we could ever from our lips pronounce.
We will never even make a dent to this beautiful structure.
So why do we say end of the world like it wasn't here before us.
Like it won't be here long after.
It just may not be called world,
it will called names far more beautiful.
Like the wind's blessed breath,
the inhale,
exhale,
of the trees.
It will be given better praises
than we could ever from our lips pronounce.
335/365 Religion Scraps 1
*My mother is not religious,
Traded church attendance for a Miles Monroe novels,
tells me,
when she went to church,
so times the things they said (preached) didn’t FEEL right.
I am anything but religious.
Traded in bible study for a village of mentors,
I tell them,
when I read my bible,
some things I read did FEEL right.
I grew up in the church my mother found after I was molested.
It was where I got my first innocent kiss,
and where I learned being tall was beautiful,
especially on me
It was also the place were I voluntarily lost my virginity
towards the age of six.
[and] I’m sorry,
because I have thought of a pretty or poetic way to say that.
But all of this was proof,
that no thing,
no one
and no place
is 100% good or bad.
I was no safer in the church than I felt in my own body.
My mother is stubborn.
And when it comes to this family tree,
the apple didn’t…even…roll…
We both serve the same God,
so we spend time fighting over which doctrines to follow.
Snorting parchment
and choking on scriptures.
She offers proof of her absolutist beliefs in the form….
*Mother we are serving the same God,
the same guiding light.
Because how many of us still slice a lamb in sacrifice,
but you boast about reading the bible three times,
and walking in it’s word.
No, you walk by intuition.
Traded church attendance for a Miles Monroe novels,
tells me,
when she went to church,
so times the things they said (preached) didn’t FEEL right.
I am anything but religious.
Traded in bible study for a village of mentors,
I tell them,
when I read my bible,
some things I read did FEEL right.
I grew up in the church my mother found after I was molested.
It was where I got my first innocent kiss,
and where I learned being tall was beautiful,
especially on me
It was also the place were I voluntarily lost my virginity
towards the age of six.
[and] I’m sorry,
because I have thought of a pretty or poetic way to say that.
But all of this was proof,
that no thing,
no one
and no place
is 100% good or bad.
I was no safer in the church than I felt in my own body.
My mother is stubborn.
And when it comes to this family tree,
the apple didn’t…even…roll…
We both serve the same God,
so we spend time fighting over which doctrines to follow.
Snorting parchment
and choking on scriptures.
She offers proof of her absolutist beliefs in the form….
*Mother we are serving the same God,
the same guiding light.
Because how many of us still slice a lamb in sacrifice,
but you boast about reading the bible three times,
and walking in it’s word.
No, you walk by intuition.
333/365 Molestation
My mother never fully pronounces the word molest-, lestation, molestation *hard swallow*, some things still get smothered in her throat.
332/365 Stuttering
We have so many words for the way we carry weight. Tote, bring, baggage, carry.
So many names for the way our shoulders slump, the way boulder's gather community in our bellies.
Weight, mass, gravity, sinking.
The way our spines curve, self-esteems wein, bones bow.
There is no Native American word for stuttering.
There is no Pre-Colonial case of such a person having this problem.
It makes me wonder, if we didn't have a word, a diagnostic, for every little thing that could go wrong.
Would we spend so much of our time afraid that it would spend so much of energy on what we hope won't happen that they're the only thing been given enough energy to occur
So many names for the way our shoulders slump, the way boulder's gather community in our bellies.
Weight, mass, gravity, sinking.
The way our spines curve, self-esteems wein, bones bow.
There is no Native American word for stuttering.
There is no Pre-Colonial case of such a person having this problem.
It makes me wonder, if we didn't have a word, a diagnostic, for every little thing that could go wrong.
Would we spend so much of our time afraid that it would spend so much of energy on what we hope won't happen that they're the only thing been given enough energy to occur
330/365 Denying Feelings
When does it get to the point where
denying your feelings is necessary?
Where can I find the line between self-pity
and self-honesty.
Is it true when they say this heartache
never completely goes away?
When does ignoring your feelings stop being
denial and start being majority?
Is it a matter of inner resolution or out-ward closure?
denying your feelings is necessary?
Where can I find the line between self-pity
and self-honesty.
Is it true when they say this heartache
never completely goes away?
When does ignoring your feelings stop being
denial and start being majority?
Is it a matter of inner resolution or out-ward closure?
329/365 So many poems I could write on behalf of this delight
There is so much I could say,
So many poems I could write.
Too many stories could be noted
On behalf of this delight.
But pain is imminent now,
I've been through this before.
I tried too many times,
To open this same door.
Falling in love is easy,
Hitting the ground is not.
Especially when you find that love
was what you should have fought.
So for me to write of happiness,
Allow joy to fill my page,
Is to know I'm only hurting myself.
For soon that joy will blaze.
So many poems I could write.
Too many stories could be noted
On behalf of this delight.
But pain is imminent now,
I've been through this before.
I tried too many times,
To open this same door.
Falling in love is easy,
Hitting the ground is not.
Especially when you find that love
was what you should have fought.
So for me to write of happiness,
Allow joy to fill my page,
Is to know I'm only hurting myself.
For soon that joy will blaze.
328/365
Hardest thing about holding on
is realizing there is nothing to hold onto.
Hardest thing about being hurt
is knowinghe'll never feel that pain.
Hardest thing about moving on
is not knowing where you're going.
Hardest thing about seeing the sun after the storm
...I still wanthim to see it with me....
is realizing there is nothing to hold onto.
Hardest thing about being hurt
is knowing
Hardest thing about moving on
is not knowing where you're going.
Hardest thing about seeing the sun after the storm
...I still want
327/365
I do but then again,
I don't.
Or maybe it's that.
I don't then again, I don't at all....
~Yeah. That one's definitely it.~
I don't.
Or maybe it's that.
I don't then again, I don't at all....
~Yeah. That one's definitely it.~
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
15/30 At the beginning of the relationship
At the beginning of the relationship,
I was the sceptic.
You were the sweet talker who liked the way “forever” rolled off your tongue.
It’s amazing how soft and fluffy, [abysmal
appealing... sweet nothings can be.
I curled into the sweet,
until I ended up with the nothing.
You got me.
Or at least I made you think so.
I got tired of you contradicting me when I told you I wasn’t the one,
that we weren’t in love.
that our relationship was fated to be a moment.
[was fated to be]
Reality has a funny way of catching up to people.
In situations like these you really can’t fight it.
Once,
I made you promise never to tell me something you didn't mean.
I should've been more specific,
cause you surely meant to lie to me.
Destiny
has wrapped itself around us like a snake.
Deceit is part of the game
especially with worlds so young.
But is it wrong for this masterpiece to have dark strokes?
Dare we remove the darkness when it's so necessary?
It's okay if you love her,
okay if you love me.
Fine if neither or only one is true.
It doesn't matter.
In this relationship,
the most important three words aren't "I love you"
rather..."Here we are."
It's a declaration of meant to be if only for a moment.
The before,
after,
and all around has fallen away.
I’m stepping back.
Cause we're meant to be,
will to be,
I'll let it be,
let us be
"So be it
No worries"
I'm realizing
since day one
I’ve been fighting to rid my life of you
but i could never coerce my hand into letting you go.
Because I held on
I am my own savior.
At the end of the day it’s me.
I love me,
I need me,
I have me,
this fight is mine.
Relative to my life,
your significance is but a drop in my ocean.
I need every drop.
I need you.
But if and when I lose you,
I’m okay with it.
(9/365) I wanna cause you a miracle when you see the way I kept God's image alive
I've watched you scamper back to girl after girl once you've left them,
Promise to kiss them gently but pinned "insert tongue" signs on various places of their body.
You follow your own command forcefully.
But I've noticed,
you only return to the ones still reaching.
The ones who haven't quite let past pass,
the ones with no trust in the universe to bring them something better.
And you can boast all day long about the beauty of this one
and your feelings for that one,
but I know the truth beneath it all.
You're just a rat lookin' for scrapts.
You'll take whatever you can get,
And go ahead and call yourself selective
but a crumb from a five star restaurant
ain't a bit more special than the trash left over from the McDonald's down the street.
Believe that a well accredited Chef created me in His very image.
I can walk around flashin' my official goddess badge
but if I stoop to the mercy of your rat-like mouth,
I am just another crumb.
326/365 July 17,2011
Bathed my self in water,
let the wind kiss my neck
and the sun made love to me in broad daylight.
It make me wonder if anyone was watching.
But not enough to stop.
let the wind kiss my neck
and the sun made love to me in broad daylight.
It make me wonder if anyone was watching.
But not enough to stop.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
325/365 {cry}
Don't give me attention every time I cry.
For then I will begin crying to get your attention.
Teach me another way.
Teach me that I am enough.
That my mere presence is enough to steal your glance.
For then I will begin crying to get your attention.
Teach me another way.
Teach me that I am enough.
That my mere presence is enough to steal your glance.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
324/365 Free-write
I am a flower five seconds from bloom
hesitating in the jump,
I am a caterpillar forced butterfly
hanging limp from my cocoon,
would rather use it as a noose
than face one day of my potential.
I am playing Kakuro more hours a day
then I sharpen my pen.
Craving rewards for my efforts
Before i make them.
I am generation X,
claiming not to be.
I am wanting instant gratification
10 seconds prior to instantly.
I am making invalid excuses
and invalid reasons why they're valid.
I am very obviously fooling myself
and everyone else.
I am resume embellisher
lavish language layer.
Washed up actor with still a bit of skill.
hesitating in the jump,
I am a caterpillar forced butterfly
hanging limp from my cocoon,
would rather use it as a noose
than face one day of my potential.
I am playing Kakuro more hours a day
then I sharpen my pen.
Craving rewards for my efforts
Before i make them.
I am generation X,
claiming not to be.
I am wanting instant gratification
10 seconds prior to instantly.
I am making invalid excuses
and invalid reasons why they're valid.
I am very obviously fooling myself
and everyone else.
I am resume embellisher
lavish language layer.
Washed up actor with still a bit of skill.
323/365 Thunder
Do you hear me?
I started out as a slow rumble,
but she can't feel me this way.
She left cloud nine.
Started off as threat.
Then touch ground in a flash.
I know you see he flash
and can hear me right behind her.
Closer now,
louder now
I am angrier than I can stand.
Angrier than lower decibels will allow.
I started out as a slow rumble,
but she can't feel me this way.
She left cloud nine.
Started off as threat.
Then touch ground in a flash.
I know you see he flash
and can hear me right behind her.
Closer now,
louder now
I am angrier than I can stand.
Angrier than lower decibels will allow.
12/30-More of a Confession
Not so much a poem as a superbly needed confession and other ranting qualities.
We're talking about the numerous times I've been sexually violated.
I'm unsure how the whole healing process works for most people in these situations. I've heard a ton of talk about not blaming yourself and blah....
Don't think that fully applies for me.
I'm gonna go ahead and call it on this one
I have to own up to it.
I called these men to me.
Granted, I never wanted any of them to go as far as they did
but to pretend I didn't tempt them is foolish.
I've never had the capacity to be a victim.
I've always had a strength with me.
To claim that I was ever truly a victim is playing down my strength and leaving the door open for it to happen again.
Shutting down may sound a lot like trust issues.
Which I have but I also have a man who knows how,
and is worthy of breaking them down.
The universe has me covered.
Meanwhile, the talk of expressionism and symbolism today in Aesthetics and Performance had my mind on a tangent.
I want to create a play that develops and portrays the way it feels to lose your virginity in such a way. It will spare no feelings.
The main symbol will be a Chasity necklace.
All the ways it can be removed; falling off, snapped off, or gracefully floating down as the couple ascends.
voices, darkness, distortion can portray the image.
Sexuality must be portrayed.
yeah, until I feel like I've gotten it all out, I'm not quitting.
And with that poem.
I want it to feel the way "it" felt.
The slow, seemingly harmless seduction,
to the unyielding build.
Unsure of the ending however.
Could make it true to life,
or could make it what the audience wants to hear.
It's all questionable.
Then I have to wonder how it would do on a BNV stage if I want to make it an indi.
these are my thoughts.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
322/365 Free-write about Kyle
I’ve always wanted to be loved just the way you love me,
Down to my very hands and eyebrow frays.
I’ve always wanted to be held just the way you hold me,
with a gentle stroke and admiration of the things I was made from.
I turn to Savannah sand in your hands.
My mind races cheetah speed
I’m heart broken.
Down to my very hands and eyebrow frays.
I’ve always wanted to be held just the way you hold me,
with a gentle stroke and admiration of the things I was made from.
I turn to Savannah sand in your hands.
My mind races cheetah speed
I’m heart broken.
321/365 Morning free-write 7/6/11
The jester takes his time,
plays with the audience until
it is revealed.
Here’s the joke.
I sit outside with a pen and a creek in my hand.
The question is,
which is heavier.
I sit by a pool of my own thought,
the question is, which is light enough to skip across the water.
plays with the audience until
it is revealed.
Here’s the joke.
I sit outside with a pen and a creek in my hand.
The question is,
which is heavier.
I sit by a pool of my own thought,
the question is, which is light enough to skip across the water.
320/365 Letters 100
Dear Franklin
One thing separates you from the other guys I've been able to let go of is your friendship is actually worth keeping.
One thing separates you from the other guys I've been able to let go of is your friendship is actually worth keeping.
320/365 I am from 2
I am from delight lectibles foks,
I am from mother's womb
mother's south
I am from not quite making it West.
I am from mother's womb
mother's south
I am from not quite making it West.
319/365 B's Workshop 3
I am from God's home
I am from minus clouds
plus sunshine.
I am from disagreements,
mother's tears,
mother's attic.
I am from lighthouse,
fire,
blazing until fire burn out
the place you call home.
I am from red, white and blue lights,
from quiet,
from suburban meets sub-urban
from tumbleweed cities
and grassland green.
I am from do too little
say too much
do too little
lost hazel eyes
in thunderous clouds
all the more soft in person.
I am from racing dragonflies
slowing to a butterflies wing
slashing snakes
catching grasshoppers
smashing red bugs,
rolling polleys
and that red light that keeps flashing
in the corner of your eye.
That ticking bomb
turned out to be car alarms
empty space,
turned out to be mother's eye
white sheet
turned out to be blood stained
long legs
turned out to rip me.
There are few things in this world you get used to coming from,
So used to being.
I am pink bike
I am pink shorts
the neighbor realized matched my bike.
I am wind blown button ups
other poets
and their ideals.
I am the result of everything I've seen.
Everything I come form.
I am from minus clouds
plus sunshine.
I am from disagreements,
mother's tears,
mother's attic.
I am from lighthouse,
fire,
blazing until fire burn out
the place you call home.
I am from red, white and blue lights,
from quiet,
from suburban meets sub-urban
from tumbleweed cities
and grassland green.
I am from do too little
say too much
do too little
lost hazel eyes
in thunderous clouds
all the more soft in person.
I am from racing dragonflies
slowing to a butterflies wing
slashing snakes
catching grasshoppers
smashing red bugs,
rolling polleys
and that red light that keeps flashing
in the corner of your eye.
That ticking bomb
turned out to be car alarms
empty space,
turned out to be mother's eye
white sheet
turned out to be blood stained
long legs
turned out to rip me.
There are few things in this world you get used to coming from,
So used to being.
I am pink bike
I am pink shorts
the neighbor realized matched my bike.
I am wind blown button ups
other poets
and their ideals.
I am the result of everything I've seen.
Everything I come form.
318/365 Color 2
Grey.
Silver.
blue.
grey
silver
black red
red
blue
blue?
Light blue?
Translucent blue.
Rippled blue.
bleu?
Gray
silver
black
blue/bleu
HOT PINK
Silver.
blue.
grey
silver
black red
red
blue
blue?
Light blue?
Translucent blue.
Rippled blue.
bleu?
Gray
silver
black
blue/bleu
HOT PINK
317/365 B's Workshop 2
Black fuchsia,
red rose
Red rose
White.
Red rose
Red rose
Black fuchsia.
Lightbrown silkbrown caramel
Light Black
silk fuchsia
violet
purple
violet
violet
violet
white
off-white
peach
violet
Black fuchsia.
dark brown
violet
fuchsia
Black
red rose
Red rose
White.
Red rose
Red rose
Black fuchsia.
Lightbrown silkbrown caramel
Light Black
silk fuchsia
violet
purple
violet
violet
violet
white
off-white
peach
violet
Black fuchsia.
dark brown
violet
fuchsia
Black
316/365 B's Workshop Prompt 1
I am five from completion,
I am carrying the weight of a boy's last dream,
and unraveling the haze surrounding him.
I am a lover,
far from friend.
Intimacy knows no bounds with me,
I know no bounds.
I was bound in the metaphysical.
Wrapped and locked with the silk of heaven.
I am irretrievable sanity,
I am always to be lost once-in-a-while.
There are 1.000 of me.
People hold onto me like I was meant to be bound,
they bound their hurts and fears in me.
I set them free,
the people and the fears.
I am vulnerability's only option.
It knows it can't run from itself,
it knows it can run from me,
It reveals itself to me,
naked and unsheathed.
I set it free as the true exhibitionist it is.
No weapon can cut when covered,
I teach them what it means to be uncovered.
I am desolate nightmares,
rebirth stars,
diving into pool sized raindrops
feeling the broken and tether of my own flesh,
knowing what it's like to bathed.
I am a flower five seconds from bloom,
hesitating in the jump, afraid of my own beauty.
Afraid of completion of ending.
To start again.
I am carrying the weight of a boy's last dream,
and unraveling the haze surrounding him.
I am a lover,
far from friend.
Intimacy knows no bounds with me,
I know no bounds.
I was bound in the metaphysical.
Wrapped and locked with the silk of heaven.
I am irretrievable sanity,
I am always to be lost once-in-a-while.
There are 1.000 of me.
People hold onto me like I was meant to be bound,
they bound their hurts and fears in me.
I set them free,
the people and the fears.
I am vulnerability's only option.
It knows it can't run from itself,
it knows it can run from me,
It reveals itself to me,
naked and unsheathed.
I set it free as the true exhibitionist it is.
No weapon can cut when covered,
I teach them what it means to be uncovered.
I am desolate nightmares,
rebirth stars,
diving into pool sized raindrops
feeling the broken and tether of my own flesh,
knowing what it's like to bathed.
I am a flower five seconds from bloom,
hesitating in the jump, afraid of my own beauty.
Afraid of completion of ending.
To start again.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
315/365 Eve remix
(Hook)
They call me eve
and I'm as old as the trees
older than the stories you were told to believe
about me
that i'm as cold as the seas
i gave the world life and they called it a disease
(verse)
they call me darkness despite the fact that I'm the one that gives days
man can't ingnite life with the light of his dim rays
despite the stories told in all the scriptures that these men made
This extra weight I carry can't be found in any rib cage
I taught the kids to count but it was not their ribs they counted
surrounded by the scripture if they did they'd be astounded
My daughters growing proud wasn't allowd and it ammounted
to the world that i founded burning skies to keep me grounded
i carried extra flesh, and they said it made me less
with the very lips I once carressed against my breasts
i tought them how to step and watched them walk out of the nest
and thanked god that I was blessed with this everlasting breath
(hook)
I give life and i know man had a hand in it
but farmers seeds are smaller than the land in which they planted it
They starred in awe at the rebirth of lazurath
the first birth of lazurath was equally miraculas
My grandchildren asked about the purpose of the sadnesses,
they feel and they're told that i unleashed all that is cancerous
but actually their manuscripts are tradgicly inaccurate
these mushroom cloud explosions only started after atom split
And the abandonment turned them into savages
backs with witch to slash and split
captains and the captive ships
and if the chance exsists
become the hands who's grip
commands the whip
They call me eve
and I'm as old as the trees
older than the stories you were told to believe
about me
that i'm as cold as the seas
i gave the world life and they called it a disease
(verse)
they call me darkness despite the fact that I'm the one that gives days
man can't ingnite life with the light of his dim rays
despite the stories told in all the scriptures that these men made
This extra weight I carry can't be found in any rib cage
I taught the kids to count but it was not their ribs they counted
surrounded by the scripture if they did they'd be astounded
My daughters growing proud wasn't allowd and it ammounted
to the world that i founded burning skies to keep me grounded
i carried extra flesh, and they said it made me less
with the very lips I once carressed against my breasts
i tought them how to step and watched them walk out of the nest
and thanked god that I was blessed with this everlasting breath
(hook)
I give life and i know man had a hand in it
but farmers seeds are smaller than the land in which they planted it
They starred in awe at the rebirth of lazurath
the first birth of lazurath was equally miraculas
My grandchildren asked about the purpose of the sadnesses,
they feel and they're told that i unleashed all that is cancerous
but actually their manuscripts are tradgicly inaccurate
these mushroom cloud explosions only started after atom split
And the abandonment turned them into savages
backs with witch to slash and split
captains and the captive ships
and if the chance exsists
become the hands who's grip
commands the whip
Friday, July 8, 2011
314/365 Seduction 2
I didn't mean to touch him with fingertips laced with paralyzers,
didn't mean to take them down.
Watch them crumble to my bosom
and clutch my waist
like they could climb into my womb.
I am a woman with an apple pie warmth,
more twinkles in my eyes than Georgia's sky.
I have hospitality gripping my arms.
Thees last boys run to my
riverbank thighs
and watermelon sweet lips.
You seduce men with intent.
I fired without aim but hit-
every-
time-
Don't blame me.
I have seen you
walk with your telephone wire hair,
your receiver mouth,
down to your very belt length skirt,
you are nothing but a booty call.
didn't mean to take them down.
Watch them crumble to my bosom
and clutch my waist
like they could climb into my womb.
I am a woman with an apple pie warmth,
more twinkles in my eyes than Georgia's sky.
I have hospitality gripping my arms.
Thees last boys run to my
riverbank thighs
and watermelon sweet lips.
You seduce men with intent.
I fired without aim but hit-
every-
time-
Don't blame me.
I have seen you
walk with your telephone wire hair,
your receiver mouth,
down to your very belt length skirt,
you are nothing but a booty call.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
313/365 Letters 99
Dear Theo,
I'm not surprised by your behavior.
I know you as the 30 year-old, near fianced man,
with the hormones and stamina of a 14 year-old boy.
But I got a lot going on,
I don't have time for boys
and 30 years is a bit too old for me.
Suffice it to say,
you're not my type.
I'm not surprised by your behavior.
I know you as the 30 year-old, near fianced man,
with the hormones and stamina of a 14 year-old boy.
But I got a lot going on,
I don't have time for boys
and 30 years is a bit too old for me.
Suffice it to say,
you're not my type.
312/365 Morning Free-write
The jester takes his time,
plays with the audience until
it is revealed.
Here’s the joke.
I sit outside with a pen and a creek in my hand.
The question is,
which is heavier.
I sit by a pool of my own thought,
the question is, which is light enough to skip across the water.
plays with the audience until
it is revealed.
Here’s the joke.
I sit outside with a pen and a creek in my hand.
The question is,
which is heavier.
I sit by a pool of my own thought,
the question is, which is light enough to skip across the water.
Monday, July 4, 2011
311/365 Letters 98
Dear Theo,
We both know I have feelings for you.
We don't need to talk about that.
We both know for every force, there is an equal and opposite force.
We don't need to talk about that.
All that we need to know is that you are 10 years older than me, in a very committed relationship and that I really just want to know you. Cause I've seen you constantly put on a show instead of being yourself and I've seen you be so afraid of the dark powers you most definitely posses. I'm just telling you that I am fully equipped to handle whatever it is you think no one can handle.
Also, for the record, nothing would ever happen between us. I won't ever let it. I could never do that to Tiffany, or any fellow woman. That's just who I am.
So if you need someone trustworthy to be vulnerable with, someone to prove to you that real love is not off put by flaws because they only enhance the masterpiece. I think you need to learn that lesson.
I care about you. I love you, I've never told you that but I do. So let me know.
All my love,
Dominique
We both know I have feelings for you.
We don't need to talk about that.
We both know for every force, there is an equal and opposite force.
We don't need to talk about that.
All that we need to know is that you are 10 years older than me, in a very committed relationship and that I really just want to know you. Cause I've seen you constantly put on a show instead of being yourself and I've seen you be so afraid of the dark powers you most definitely posses. I'm just telling you that I am fully equipped to handle whatever it is you think no one can handle.
Also, for the record, nothing would ever happen between us. I won't ever let it. I could never do that to Tiffany, or any fellow woman. That's just who I am.
So if you need someone trustworthy to be vulnerable with, someone to prove to you that real love is not off put by flaws because they only enhance the masterpiece. I think you need to learn that lesson.
I care about you. I love you, I've never told you that but I do. So let me know.
All my love,
Dominique
Saturday, July 2, 2011
2/365 This, it's an apology letter to the both of us, for how long it took me to let things go
I am fully aware that if I were to die this afternoon,
you'd still be scratching your head at my wake.
One flavored signals have never my strong suit,
I've always been a fan of the mixer.
Hate notes in my journal,
Love letters in my text messages
And when they flip, the transition is seamless.
When it came to choosing my favorite color,
I narrowed it down to both red and green.
I know you've always felt the hint of stop in my "go."
In bed, with your hands around my torso,
I'd secretly implement a game of red light, green light.
And though you didnt know your hands were playing:
It was always clear to both of us when they lost.
I counted on you taking the blame.
No caring person looks a battered woman in the eyes and tells her it her fault.
Even when they should.
You spent countless nights cursing your own name.
I know this because it's how I spent my time before I met you.
It's called transfer of energy.
They say once you're abused,
you either become the healer or an abuser yourself.
So matter of fact...
I bet they didn't see me coming.
Wolf in sheeps clothing,
I bet they didn't know I'd play you like that.
Friday, July 1, 2011
310/365 Song idea
I will not let you cut my hair.
Take me,
sedate me,
enslave me,
parade me,
forbade me from being the true me,
don't touch my hair!
Oh nooo.
Take me,
sedate me,
enslave me,
parade me,
forbade me from being the true me,
don't touch my hair!
Oh nooo.
309/365 Ladi 2
She speaks between facts
over opinions,
like safely crossing a busy highway without looking left or right,
her steps are guided.
Deliberate but unplanned.
God planted vectors control her very movement.
over opinions,
like safely crossing a busy highway without looking left or right,
her steps are guided.
Deliberate but unplanned.
God planted vectors control her very movement.
308/365 About Ladi at first...
She rises with the sun every morning but never stops dreaming,
she takes daily snapshots with her pen
and frames them with her tongue.
She'a an artist,
can capture a photo with a sentence,
make her words curve more eagerly than a paint stroke,
she finds life inspiring
and death the ultimate goal
because she can't reach it without passing through the hallways of her purpose.
she takes daily snapshots with her pen
and frames them with her tongue.
She'a an artist,
can capture a photo with a sentence,
make her words curve more eagerly than a paint stroke,
she finds life inspiring
and death the ultimate goal
because she can't reach it without passing through the hallways of her purpose.
307/365 weird free-write in Berkeley Pub
When I was young, I would whisper in my mother's leg just to see if ears were the only place you could be heard.
Well, this is what I told myself.
I"ve been used to feeding lies to myself and others since conception
but there's something about...
Well, this is what I told myself.
I"ve been used to feeding lies to myself and others since conception
but there's something about...
306/365 In the attic of my mother's heart
In the attic of my mother's heart there are cobwebs, and crowbars.
Old bibles and new religions.
There are dust patterns
describing the way to the comfiest room.
There are barb wires on the door.
Not to keep you out but to see how much you're willing to go through to get in.
There are broken promises and found hope.
New joys and illicit sorrows.
There are things that she leaves unseen in the hopes that I will not remember.
But I have implicit memories tattooed to my genomes.
Explicit memories of a life that came before.
Especially, the way the light pushed into her attic when he opened her door.
There is barb wire on the door-knob of my mother's attic coiled into thickets
because she knows what can be taken from you if you appear weak.
If you don't cut them a bit going in just to let them know you have strength.
Just to see what color they bleed
and compare it with your own.
To decide if they are human.
Even criminals are human.
Even mass murderers are human
Old bibles and new religions.
There are dust patterns
describing the way to the comfiest room.
There are barb wires on the door.
Not to keep you out but to see how much you're willing to go through to get in.
There are broken promises and found hope.
New joys and illicit sorrows.
There are things that she leaves unseen in the hopes that I will not remember.
But I have implicit memories tattooed to my genomes.
Explicit memories of a life that came before.
Especially, the way the light pushed into her attic when he opened her door.
There is barb wire on the door-knob of my mother's attic coiled into thickets
because she knows what can be taken from you if you appear weak.
If you don't cut them a bit going in just to let them know you have strength.
Just to see what color they bleed
and compare it with your own.
To decide if they are human.
Even criminals are human.
Even mass murderers are human