Wednesday, December 5, 2007

For Yeheshua, Emmet and James: speaking to young Black men

He walks along the familiar streets

Passing familiar faces

Waving, smiling, shaking hands

It is night as they smile back

Leaving him unable to see

The devil’s gaze behind those eyes

For looks really can kill

And they will tonight

They embrace like normal

As he is numb to the daggers in his back

He goes with them

They’re his friends

Yes, the white man’s friendship

Is always inticing, isn’t it?

He’d follow them to hell and back

In brotherhood he accepts

What they hand to him

They all inhale

Yes, the white man’s world

Is always intoxicating, isn’t it?

Their muscles relax

Enough to make it fun and easy for them

And enough to numb him

To their stares and grins

“ya know kid, u’re funny…

Always were one of the cool niggers”

His smile relaxes as he notices

A tattoo on one of their arms

he’d never seen before

“let’s play a little game, boys”

He’s caught off guard

Like Hampton

Trying to rise to his defense

Like a Panther

As their fists knock him to the ground

Knuckles tattooed COINTELPRO

He’s barely conscious

They must have slipped me something

He thought

“I have to go to work tomorrow”

He mutters


Oh there is no tomorrow for you,


It ends now”

They beat his face

Like our streets

Knock the wind out of him

Like deflated dreams deferred

He raises an arm to shield himself

And they bind him

His fingers are cut

Paying the old price of literacy

While the beating never ends

He bears the pain

But can’t help but cry out

Like the street’s son-less mother

“stop cryin boy!

Do those girls in the videos cry?!”

His tongue is cut

To silence him like Malcolm and Huey

Next are his eyes

“now we’ll make you as blind

As you’ve kept yourself”

And his ears

“hell, not like you were usin’ ‘em,

But we will

And keep ‘em

To remember you by”

He can yet smell the gasoline

That they’ve doused him with

Where they’ve brought him to

Under the cover of darkness

Castrating him

“let’s see how many lil

Bastards u make and leave

Without these”

Lives snatched from him

No wonder he still holds his own

“we’re gonna light ya!

Like Watts, Detroit

And the words of Leroi Jones”

He tries to scream

“no, you don’t have to do…”

choking on his own blood

Faintly hearing the matches struck

He braces himself

Like a boy in the 9th ward,

Watching the water rise

They toss them at his Dunks

The flames rise quicker

He tosses and flails

Like an addict in withdrawl

without methadone

reaching towards the heaven

he was taught to be eternal

but was never sure existed

hoping this trouble won’t last always

and boy, are they laughing


Like the hoop dreams of your children!

Like AIDS burns your women!

Like bullets tearing through young innocent flesh!


One of them stomps out the flames

Like the hopes of the young hustler

Behind bars 25 to life,

To get a good picture while he smolders

Like grumblings of revolutions lost

In this grotesque, contorted form

They take his body for a last joyride

Tied to the back of the truck

On this jagged road

And one by one

His limbs roll away

Beginning with his head

Leaving a trail of what was once

Beautiful Blackness

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

love, love, love
what can I say right now.... i'm full of it lol in more ways than one, most definitely. I don't know what people are thinking when they say that there are no good Black men out there. Rough around the edges, troubled, or whatever else as they may be, are we as Black women not the same and even moreso in some ways as well? Are we not a troubled people, our wonderful, resilient sable race?

Monday, November 12, 2007

I AM!!!

("motherlode" is spelled wrong on purpose)

even when I wanna be
someone or something else
i beg to be what i should be
and work to fix what i am
I am
i am worthy of love
i am meant to be happy
i am not perfect
i am constantly needing
i am always me

needing a man
too much
when needing to be both
woman and man
but confused on
what attributes belong
when she grew up
not knowing what it means
to be a man
never knowing a man's true love
but only having had
her trust in men shattered
from the beginning of life

forced to be both
because being a woman
signifies being weak
in a world where
being the beast of burden
is passed down through generations
and gladly accepted
and nobody else understands
but always ready to
pile on the pain

from a long line of
mules of the world
caring for all those around you
sacrificing all of yourself
to better them
being the have nots
to make sure they all have

always looking perfect
but it's all on surface
hiding inside
hiding behind habits
hiding behind all the wrong choices
suffering in silence
dying internally
but somehow looks good
enough to be every man's dream

a dream constantly fading
never attainable
allows herself to be caught
yet retains elussiveness
the enigma that
is this Black woman
for she has no match
and those who get her
are no good for her
but her heart bleeds
leaving so many broken in her wake
she settles
and loves for love's sake
never being able to discern
what's good for her
and what makes her more destructive

and she takes it
she takes all of it
and learns how not to cry
being used
being taken
being lied to
being built up
being torn down
being idolized
being punished
taking his tantrums
taking his neglect
taking his complaints
taking his shortcomings
taking his pain
taking taking his expectations
neglecting her own
ever apologizing
for even possessing them

wise beyond her years
mother-load of perpetual knowledge
that everyone else
has automatic access to
but her
at such a young age
she's done, seen
and been through so much
but the trail of tears
seems to never end
so there's no chocie
but full-steam ahead
satisfaction is impossible

she never asks for anything
and wonders why she gets nothing
no matter how many's around her
she's forever alone
but can't get caught up
on herself
because those she loves
matter so much more
even if that love
is not mutual

a fighter
always struggling
barely surviving
but surviving still
never knowing exactly how
and definitely not why

she is not plastic
she is not impossible
she is real
she exists
she begs to exist
and she begs to be understood
she begs to be needed
she begs for the stress
and pain to go away
but there's never rest
for this woman's work
MY work
is never done

I Cried

It all started with a Lindsay Lohan movie

And losing my earphones

Some simple damn earphones

To my broken mp3 player

Needing to escape from myself

And my thoughts

Escape into music

Like I always have

Like I used to

When I was worthless

Now wondering

If I ever truly disproved it

Wanting to escape the weights

Bearing down on my very being

That even I couldn't see for years

Frantically ripping my room apart

As the pieces to my patched together existence

To find what I desire so much

Retracing all my steps

Wanting so badly to know what I'm even looking for

Or even how to find it at all

Anything at all

What can give me solace?

What is it exactly that I need solace from?

Okay… so, fold the pants

Fold and roll the shirts

Hang up the sweaters

Hang the hoodies

Unhinge the guilt

Tuck away the depression

Sweep away the fatigue

Suck up the pain

Frantically searching and crying

Where the fuck are they?!

I need my comfort!

Like Nana's homemade banana pudding

I'm finally feeling the weight of

21 years of neglect




Trying so hard

To be accepted and wanted and approved of

In the eyes of people who

Clearly don't even approve of themselves

To them I am a mistake

Without realizing, I took on their mantle as my own

Always expected to be the one to

Excel above the rest

To do what was never done

To write everyone else's wrongs

And then apologize for doing it

I am here in spite of them and I'm sorry for it

Never understanding how my mere existence

Can be an affront to theirs

Constantly being the one to be tested

And unforgiven for my lack of perfection

No matter how hard I try

All that I am and more is never enough

In anyone else's eyes

Yet I am expected to

Suck it up and deal

Take it all lying down

While on the subject of lying down

I'm just sick and tired

Of being bound to the imperfections of flesh

To want the companionship of another

Not to complete me but to give me

That solace

Sick of wanting someone else

To take my headaches away

Never able to focus on what I need

Always pleasing whoever he is

Expected to be the answer to his prayers

While he becomes the reasons for mine

Sick of giving


My body

My heart

Everything that is the makings of me

Never getting anything

Nearly as precious in return

I'm never afforded the same honesty

I'm always made to deal

with his fuckin baggage

being surrounded and still alone

So, sitting,

legs folded

holding myself


I see myself forreal for probably the first time

Undone and unapologetically


For all the times that I didn't

All the times that I couldn't

All the times that I should have

For all the times that I felt like

Doing the unthinkable

For all the punishment I've put myself through

For all the punishment I've been given

For simply being me

For not knowing how to handle it


My room's a fuckin mess

And I can't clean it

I can't move

Why can't I just find the fuckin headphones

And push the goddamn easy button

And erase it all

I tell myself the same crap over and over again

And it seems good on the surface

But I sit staring into the darkness

Of the inside of my eyes

Biting my nails to a bloody mess

Crying like it's goin outta style

And I can't just figure out how

To make it all better