The Ugly Truth

The little girl inside of me used to believe in Disney
that there was a Prince Charming for her too
and he will love her in all of her glory.
What Disney didn't tell her about love
is how much pain it can cause.

So I told her, If I ever (ever fall) in love again
I'll tread the waters with such caution
so that I'll never ever drown again.

But everything changed when our eyes met.

I didn't realize how deeply I had fallen in them
until I couldn't remember what your singing to me sounded like
and the way the corners of your mouth curled up into a smile.
Now I'm standing on the other side of a love song.
Nights have turned into late-night cravings for your touch
and I worry I am asking for too much.
Our connection has been weakening 
as someone else places their hand upon your arm.

Where had we gone so wrong?

She lies next to me on drenched bed sheets
and I'm trying to tell her that I'm sorry,
I promise her that I will do better,
that I should have done more to protect her
unintentionally exposing her to your imperfections.
Our hearts are crying out to you
wondering why you cannot hear us.
Constantly waking to our worst nightmare
realizing that you are no longer there.

I don't know what will give me the strength
to make me just walk away
because the only answers my prayers have been given
are of a stranger I refuse to believe in.
Or have you been fooling me?
Playing with my heart, taking me for granted?

You still make my heart beat.
But you are slowly killing me.

I cannot blame Disney for not telling her the ugly truth
because she's simply too young to understand
that fairytales and mankind just don't go hand-in-hand.

Flashback Friday: Finding Girl: Synthesis of Dark Phrases by Ntozake Shange

This poem is about two years old. At the time, I had fallen absolutely in love with the movie, For Colored Girls. I know a lot of people cannot watch that movie because it is so much to take in, but I watched it because of the poetry. I researched for days on who was the writer behind these beautiful pieces and discovered that it was Ntozake Shange. I immediately begged my mother to take me to Barnes & Noble, and I purchased her chorepoem, for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf. I was so captivated by the language and the stories of the characters that I took it upon myself to memorize some of the poetry in the movie (the one I got down-packed was Loretta Devine's towards the end!). I decided to write a poem incorporating lines from one of hers. I plan on doing some sort of reprise of this really soon! Enjoy!

“dark phrases of womanhood, of never havin been a girl”
i am black woman, who has seen the darkest of dark times
times woman can only see
“half-notes scattered, without rhythm/no tune”
my body used and thrown away
my love tampered with, my mind gone
i am all but whole
pieces of me stolen
my song now a distant melody
my ears strain to hear my broken music
“distraught laughter fallin over a black girl’s shoulder”
my sanity now gone
but i smile in their faces
the woman cannot be weak
especially if her skin is of the night sky
“it’s funny/it’s hysterical the melody-less-ness of her dance”
and they laugh at the way i move
the graceful swifts of my arms
contradicting the quick impulsive steps of my short legs
i dance this way for My Love has become nothing
but a contradiction
“don’t tell nobody don’t tell a soul”
the secret rendezvous i’ve had with My Love
deprived me of the little pride i had left
the temptation to proclaim my love was silenced
and now
“i can’t hear anything but maddening screams
and the soft strains of death”
i had given all of myself
in return for the death of my being
i saw my contradictory Love after my demise
wondering why i wasn’t recognizable
“you promised me, you promised somebody/anybody, sing a black girl’s song”
sing me my song, i told My Love
“sing her rhythms, caring/struggle/hard times, sing her song of life”
I am black woman who has seen the darkest of dark times
inflicted upon me
by the Love that had stolen my black girl’s song
“she’s been dead so long, closed in silence so long
she doesn’t know the sound of her own voice, her infinite beauty”
a new sound escapes from me
my own voice 
my inner black girl
“let her be born”
“let her be born and handled warmly”
i give her life

And forever she will live

Writing Challenge

Good morning, all!

First, I'd like to thank everyone again for all of the love and support I've been receiving regarding my writing. It's very inspiring and pushes me to write even more! I've been told I am such an inspiration to people; it's very touching, so thank you! 

Second, I am challenging myself to write more different things. Please excuse all of the lovey-dovey stuff I've been writing; I am nineteen and female, so that in itself says a lot! Therefore, I am focusing my attention on more "controversial" topics, for lack of a better term, specifically race. As a black female attending a predominantly white institution, there are so many things I've seen, heard, and personally experienced that I feel need to be addressed. What better avenue to use than writing? After a conversation with a friend last night regarding a song and its meaning, I felt that I needed to do more with my writing. So I'm putting all my heart-throbbing works aside for now (unless I get some random spurt of inspiration and feel the need to express myself!) and embarking on this exploration of understanding who I am outside of my world and how my ethnicity and gender plays a role in that. If anybody has any suggestions, please please please feel free to tell me! I am very open-minded and willing to try anything.

So...are you ready? I certainly am!

Much love,
Jay

Let Me Love You Down

Let me love you down
in all that is poetic
from the inscriptions upon your cheeks
to the curves of you feet
Let me bask in all of your ambiance
and lose myself in finding your inner you
I promise to never cause you any pain
Let's escape to some unknown place
and we could fold a thousand paper cranes
so that we will eternally be
intertwined in young love 
and watch it grow old and ripen
It will be the sweetest thing we have ever known. 

Lost in Translation

You know just what to say and just what to do
to get me right back to loving you
And every time I muster enough strength to love you again
you're out of my life
for days at a time
And just when I've almost forgotten what your voice sounds like
here you are again
as if no time has passed
And foolishly I play along because
I've convinced myself that Love is what brings you home--
Maybe I've misunderstood that term of endearment
You get the best of me every time 
either way.

In Memoriam: Dancing the Dream by Michael Jackson

                            

Five years ago today, the world lost the greatest entertainer and one of the kindest, most loving people, Michael Jackson. As many of you know, he has been my favorite artist since I was a kid. What many of you don't know is that aside from being an amazing singer, songwriter, and performer, Michael loved art. He was an artist, with both pictures and words. In honor of him, here is one of his many poems, Dancing the Dream. Rest in peace, Michael!

Consciousness expresses itself through creation. This world we live in is the dance of the creator. Dancers come and go in the twinkling of an eye but the dance lives on. On many an occasion when I'm dancing, I've felt touched by something sacred. In those moments, I've felt my spirit soar and become one with everything that exists. I become the stars and the moon. I become the lover and the beloved. I become the victor and the vanquished. I become the master and the slave. I become the singer and the song. I become the knower and the known. I keep on dancing and then, it is the eternal dance of creation. The creator and creation merge into one wholeness of joy.

I keep on dancing and dancing.......................and dancing, until there is only .................the dance.

Some Inspiration to Fellow Writers

Hello, everyone!

I've recently run into writer's block! As many of you know, it is probably the worst feeling for a writer; you want to write but don't know what to write about it. I found this picture on Pintrest and thought it was brilliant. And, of course, I had to share with you!

Happy Writing!
Jay

The Good Times

Cheers to late night car rides through the park
getting high off of paranoia
inhaling your sweet talk because
a drunk man never tells tales.

Cheers to early Saturday mornings
becoming one with nature
forgetting conversation
laughing away the lashes of the night before.

Cheers to 9am cuddles and kisses
admiring each other's masterpieces
unaware of the existence of time
and leaving behind a gentleman's kiss.

Cheers to never-ending summer nights
where no one else exists
never-ending dances in the streets
and last-first kisses.

Love Story (Haikus)

Intertwined hearts of
too young souls caught up in a
grown-up act, naive

What was at stake was
unknown, so oblivious
to how life would change

Living in moments
Drinking away the time and
tasting each other

Laughter falling off 
her bruised shoulders, his smile hints
his fondness of her

Time does not exist
as they lay intertwined in
hearts of too young souls

Divinity in Haikus

In divinest sense
his soul is the purest thing.
I must have a taste.

Trace my inner thigh
with subliminal language
and not with hard lust.

See me as goddess.
Worship what the naked eye
Has failed at seeing.

I see you as god.
Your eyes are my morning sun
A beautiful sight.

How you stand so proud
and majestic in movement.
I am mesmerized.

Let us reign as one
In the name of all that is
Sacred, pure, and true.

Metamorphosis

I am full.

Full of doubt, anguish, confusion, sadness, disappointment, anger, grief.
I am broken.

And so like a wounded animal I immerse into myself
Separated from the rest of the world
Treating my wounds with ink 
Rediscovering freedom
Removing all of the ugliness
And painting a masterpiece of bleeding colors.


When the time is right,
I will emerge 
Magnificent and beautiful.

I will be free.

I've Been Writing You Into Poetry

I've been writing you into poetry again.
I tell our secrets between the lines so they will know
And I won't have to bear them alone.
I paint you over verses
Sketching your rhythm as rhymes
How could you be so smooth?
We dance behind closed doors in haikus
Taking five and then going again for seven
And then finally five days of silence...
I keep adding periods to your lines
And then changing them to commas or ellipses
Or just letting them sit there
Because you never seem to end--
When will I stop writing?

Not A Man

Part I:
"I am a man," he said.
I scoffed. Really?
I didn't know a man played games, trying to get all that he can get
so that in the end he wins
I didn't know one of the languages he did not speak was honesty
I didn't know he hid his emotions because his boys say he's a bitch if he shows them
That he's too young
He just wants to play because he'll have enough time for all the grown folk stuff later
He just wants to have fun
Why settle on one ice cream flavor when there are so many more you haven't even tried yet?


Part II:
You thought you were a man.

You run from breast to breast, feining for a taste
I thought your mother weened you off of that shit
You slither through a bed of weeds with your smooth talk 
telling them the same sweet things in three different languages
making them all fall in love with you
And what happens when you finally come across a rose?
She's too much to handle
because she requires too much grown folk stuff
so you find your way out
Oh but make sure to tell the next one to take good care of her
because she's beautiful and she deserves it.
Bullshit.
That, my dear, is not a man.
That, sir, is a little ass boy.

You wanna be called a man?
Then stand in your truth
and admit when you've done wrong
And simply just do what's right.

And then maybe,
just maybe,
you can be a man.

Flashback Friday: Self-Portrait as 16-Year-Old Phoenix

This poem is about three years old. At that time I was going through major changes, so the image of a phoenix was simply perfect to describe that. Enjoy!

She scorns her reflection,

frowning at the girl locked in the

glass. Angry at the creature she has

become, with a swift movement of

her small hands ignites her skin, the

bright red flames climbing up her fingertips.

Her arms, legs, and feet immediately

crumble from the slight bite of the flames,

falling to ashes all around her. They engulf her

dark shirt, instantly turning it to embers. The

incandescent blaze crawls up her neck, encompassing

her face, leaving nothing behind. They lick

through her long hair, marring its beauty and

transforming it into black soot. All that is

left are the ashes where she stood. Then, the

ashes soften and become moist, forming

a pair of feet. Slowly, the dampened ashes

knit and fasten the new flesh of the rest

of her body. They converge and form

two almond-shaped eyes, a slim pair of lips,

a small rounded nose, and small hairs

falling over each other, creating thin dark

eyebrows. The wet ashes rise up to the top

of her head and braid fiery red strands

of hair down past her shoulders. A smile

crawls upon her face, for she has finally

eradicated the beast she had become.

Remembering Love

I am remembering darkness
Having to only rely on touch in order to see you
Seeing silence dance around us
The world had stopped moving
And we thrived--
Without any source of light
But that which burst from within
I am remembering the taste of forbidden fruit
How its scent lingered way past the October dawn
Baptizing in what remained
And rising feeling anew
Now I could see you.


Inspired by "I Am Looking At Music" from Love Jones.

West Side Story

They were star-crossed lovers in the Ghetto
The Universe never meant for them to become one
For the stars were not in alignment
But they did it anyway
And despite whatever threat met them
Their love flourished
Like a rose pushing through two pieces of concrete
But eventually they cracked under the pressure
And he fell from his grace right into her arms
As she held his body close to her heart
She looked into the eyes of what had killed him
And realized they were the same ones she had fallen in love with.

Poet Spotlight: I Fell in Love with English by Tierra Daniels

I fell in love with English 

When he read my soul.
He took me on a whirlwind,
He was cacophony, he was euphony.

A paradox in his own right,
I was intrigued and I was befuddled.
His touch made me weep and giggle 
and shiver and smile.

He had poetic lips
And he gave me melodic kisses
that made my feminine rhyme tingle,
I had to have him. 

His love was a beautiful ballad on 
a Sunday morning
And I was hooked


Thank you, Tierra!