Mommy's Hands

at nineteen
my mother held her swollen belly
and God blessed her hands,
His power emanating through the thin barrier
that separated the three of us
her hands chose life

as a little girl I was always obsessed
with Mommy's hands
how soft and delicate they were in my tiny palms
I always wanted to feel her warmth
that I could feel came from a higher power

with those hands
we were never without
and we were able to be

Calm After the Storm

my heart has stopped racing
breathing now requires little effort again
and my chest no longer has that throbbing ache
hugs don't hurt anymore
especially when it's his arms that are around me
I even find myself drawing more and more into his warmth
while before I couldn't bear another's touch
no matter the sincerity behind it
I used to believe that falling in love created such a thrill
that it hurt so good
an earthquake that tore through your heart
shattering everything negative
thunder rolling through the hills
shaking trees to their core
such destruction was a beautiful mess
but I've realized that this kind of falling in love
only leaves nasty scars
and have learned to turn my mistakes into art
so when people ask about them
I call them tattoos
this was how I thought I was in love with someone
you let them tear through your heart and they leave behind tattoos
but this time my heart isn't experiencing such turbulence
is this wrong?
do I not love him?
but it's moments like when I am curled up next to him
my face buried deep into the crook of his neck
his arms draped over me like a blanket over a sleeping child
or when we're asleep and he pulls me into him
such a calmness melts inside of me
this is a different kind of love.

Flashback: Permanent Ink Pt. II

I was looking through my Google Docs for all my old poems and stumbled upon this. Isn't it amazing to find something years later? I thought, did I really write this?! Enjoy!

I never wanted to love in permanent ink because I knew that 
one day it would be all I had left. But I didn’t want to forget those 
moments for they were precious segments of time that needed 
to be captured. In blue ink I inscribed just about every beautiful 
episode for batum, so that I could replay them when the stars 
were the only things that accompanied me. My blue ink continued to 
scribe, even the nightmares. I couldn’t wake up from those terrors. 
Even worse, they were now apart of me. Like a broken record, 
they kept showing themselves behind my lids over and over again. 
They wouldn’t wash away like ink on skin because they had replaced 
each inch of my flesh. I was ready to play Russian Roulette. 
All I had was one shot. And all of it would end. But the safety kicked in 
when I pulled the trigger and my life flashed before my eyes. Staring at this 
piece of steel, it transformed into the one who had bequeathed me the pen 
in the first place. Never regret loving in permanent ink but I let it consume me 
and take over me. I won’t be careless with this blue ink anymore. 
Trading in such things for new ones will only be my ultimate downfall. 
The ugly scars left behind are now simple remnants of my old self. 
So I prance on Earth’s shoulders, scarred and all. 
One day someone will see past my imperfections and I will too.

Forget Me Not

This morning I stood by my window sill as the April
showers fell ever so lightly against the white panes, the
petrichor filling my lungs as I clipped away the stems
of forget-me-nots. I thought of giving instead the white
oleanders in milk--but I loved you too much to cause
that much pain. These blues will be my memory for you just
as these scars are your memory. Does your heart break when you
hear my name? All I ever wanted was to dance in your
arms way past midnight. I attach kisses and teardrops to
each petal along with the very lasts of you that live
in me. I wrap the flowers in the best ribbon of blue
and place them six feet above where you lie. Forgive me, love,
I know not what I do, love. I could not stop loving you.

Resistance to the Strong Black Woman Mantra

From birth we are nurtured to never show signs of weakness

because America was built on our fore-mothers' backs

and they did not break.

They bore children to a man that was never theirs

Had to lie on their backs

and brace themselves against the abuse 

that was thrust through her body.

She hurt but she did not cry.

We are told to never let a man violate

that which is most sacred

and to never believe what he appears to be.

Little girl, they say, you don't know what love is

You have all the time in the world for all of that.

What got me was that if I got my little heart broken

I better not show him that he hurt me.

Let no straw break your back.

But I loved someone whom at one point loved me too.

Let me cry a little.

Therapy Session

grown woman sits propped between 
Momma's big brown legs 
head resting against her thighs 
weighed down by memory
Momma has a brown comb in her hand
parting her hair and scratching her scalp
grown woman is suddenly little girl again
gritting her teeth and wincing at 
the pulling of her thick, coily mane
Momma is singing her a blues
she tried hard to forget
trying to scratch that memory out 
of her baby's head
she sighs and rolls her big brown eyes
until Momma sings an end she never heard of
and comes to understand a Mother's love
grown woman/little girl
folds herself into Momma's arms
and thanks her with tears

Homeless

she wanders down the middle of the one-way
too disoriented to pay attention to traffic
                                   yet focused
feet bare and covered in sporadic spots of blood
half           scattered black dress
like her broken heart

rain pours but she is unbothered
even if she cannot see
her heart knows where to go
they say, carry ya drunk tail home, girl
                                   she's too involved to notice

she begins to hum a series of anharmonic tunes
her arms and legs eventually joining in on this
uncoordinated          dance
is this good enough for you yet, love?
she calls to no one
she's not even sure if it's the rain or her own tears now
                                  she never wanted to play the fool

but he found her in an alley
licking her wounds from a previous beating
and nursed her good enough to love her
          good enough to love me?

now she can't find her way home
it was the last place he held her
                                and said, I love you.

10 Breaths

1. 
i feel broke
i feel broken

2. 
i built a wall around my heart 
after the first time it burst like fireworks in my chest

3. 
but somehow you broke in and found your way to its center
and to my surprise it was strong enough to take you

4. 
but you plucked your root as you walked out of the door
and it burst again
bleeding questions and confusion

5. 
i can't breathe

6. 
i could feel my heart cracking as i inhale

7. 
your smile wasn't for me anymore
it took me till now to figure that out

8. 
i hold my breath when people hug me
i used to enjoy it but i now fear it
because they might break me too

9. 
my frame is so fragile
and when you dropped me 
i shattered like fine china on wooden floors
i'm still cutting my brown skin on pieces i can't find
leaving traces of blood hoping you'll find
your way back to me.

10. Breathe.
i can't.

Breathe.
i can't.

Breathe.
i hate you but i will still make excuses for you

Breathe. 
if you couldn't handle my kind of love
you should have just said so.
now i'm walking around drunk off of your 
half-empty crystals of broken promises

Breathe.
don't come back again
i'll fix myself up good enough to love you again.

Death by Poetry

I.
i told you how i feared Death--
the very thought of it suffocated me:
to think i'll never get to be again.

i'm not afraid to die, you said,
throwing your head back and laughing
into the crowd of smoke.

II.
tonight
i saw red
broken bones and torn flesh
what had i done?

i burn the pieces
in the back alley of the park where no one
used to go.

III.
when i return home i dip my bruised body
into lukewarm bath water
and watch the rest drown.

you're dead to me.

i climb into bed, my body heavy
and on my wall find your eyes staring back at me.

Hidden

We always met in an open field away from
any sign of life. It made me feel special at first,
but this is the only way he could love me. Just
as night is beginning to take over and the sun
is leaving behind a pallet of pinks and oranges,
he pulls me in as my body begins to shiver--
first from the chill and then from anticipation. I sit
with my back pressed against his beating heart;
feels like booted feet running against wooden floors,
the steps growing louder and louder as he
presses me deeper into him. We thrive in silence. 
It is our own language. After several moments, 
his wet tongue trips over my right ear 
and I giggle, eventually cringing from anticipation
again. And there we are again, the grass our 
support, our hands not getting enough of each
other, blessing bruises like pastors, kissing scars
like mothers, melting into each other like ice on tongues. 
I would lose myself in trying to love him. When it is 
too dark to see our black bodies anymore, we break 
in silence.  I try my best to regain my scattered self 
as he stands near the banks and howls at the moon. 
I am trying to remember every little detail, 
just in case this is our last time. But it never felt like 
the last time. Our laughter echoing through trees and 
train tracks, kissing each other like rain droplets falling 
on eyelids felt like forever. When we returned to the city, 
no one ever knew he loved me.

Gone Girl

barefooted black girl
                       nappy hair in disarray

tears falling down the paths of predecessors

                       brown dress torn against bruised skin
chasing little boys down

                       dirt path roads
dust staining her black skin

                       chasing daddy

though he's long gone
                       ma's been crying for her to come back home

her grandmothers' prayers howling in the wind

Lord please guide her
                       back home

you poor girl

                      poor little brokenhearted black girl
these little boys can't love you

                       you poor girl
daddy should've taught you

                        what love is supposed to be

A Kiss

That last day of summer in our favorite spot
When your kisses were like snowflakes on eyelids
I could barely catch my breath
Each one placed randomly with such tenderness
And soft intent
They were drawing me more and more into you
It was magic
Falling in love all over again
So overwhelming that my tears fell like rain on a Saturday afternoon--
It was the most beautiful thing.

My First Love

To my first "love"--
If you thought this poem was going to be about you
You are sadly mistaken
This is for my first real love
Who made me fall in love with words and language
Whose metaphors send shivers down my spine
He introduced me to the essence of synecdoche and metonymy 
His rhythm makes me dance indefinitely
His cadence forcing me to catch my breath frequently
Infinite snaps to you, baby
And when his lines are harmonious
I swear I am on cloud nine
Getting off of that high is the last thing on my mind
Staring into his melancholy eyes
Allows me to see the world in a new light
He defies all of which I have ever known
Breaking rules that I've learned for years in school
Some see his madness as a delusion
I'd rather say that is exactly what he is acknowledging 
About this dry-ass reality
He is often misunderstood
His words often misconstrued
But I am infatuated by them
When he speaks to me
I am easily romanced by them 
Or easily confused
And I wonder if the way he speaks to me
Has made other hearts fall in love with him just as easily
I try to read between his lines
Dissect his stanzas
Look beyond his melodic phrases
Because real eyes realize real lies
His paradoxes are what stump me the most
The irony of them makes me wonder
And when wonder becomes questions 
Become assumptions become accusations
Becomes distrust becomes having had enough
He sweet talks me once again
And I fall in love with him once again
This is for you, my love
This, is for Poetry.

black bohemian rhapsody

this black woman
whose skin had been dipped in golden brown
and shimmers when sunlight kisses it
body covered in tattooed scars
hair braided long down her back
dancing a solo performance with no expectations
to her black girl's song
filled with whole notes and cacophony
her melody her lover has memorized
and croons like a songbird in the evenings
he has found beauty in her missteps
and when he joins her
there is such a thing as magic
she is queen
her hair is her crown
she is enameled in gold
ruling over all that is poetic
living among blank sheets
waiting to be filled
this is her home

Dark Room

Imagine sitting in a pitch-black room
Alone
Can't see anything, no kind of light is able to penetrate this kind of darkness
You are scared
You want to move
But how? Where will you go?
You can't see anything
Your heart is so heavy that it suffocates air going into your lungs
You cry
but that only impairs your vision even more
Mom is on the other end of the phone
trying to guide you out of this place
telling you, honey, you have to get out of there
But you can't move
Her love isn't enough to guide you out of this dark place
And you just sit there
Alone
In this pitch-black room
Suffocating
And crying
I used to think that I was untouchable,
that depression was just a neighbor I saw in the morning when I left for school
I'd laugh and say, no, I'm just going through something
This, too, shall pass
That I needed a doctor to tell me that I am suffering from it
But then I realized this darkness was almost inevitable
That it is a heavy cloak I wear every single day,
trying to hide it with a smile but concluding that that hurt way too much
I don't need a doctor to tell me what I feel in the pit of my stomach
That I am probably the 1 in 10 Americans who suffer from depression
That not a day goes by that I feel myself slipping back into my dark room
It scares me to know that I know this dark place
But do I think I have no way out?
That I will become the unfortunate few who succumb to it 
and live in eternal darkness?
No
I'm barely 20
I have yet to make my mark on this world
That is my light out of this dark room

Confessions of a Sleepaholic

Sleep doesn't even belong to me anymore--
it belongs to us, or more so you than me.
Conversations now only exist beyond the real world every night,
climbing into bed alone in silence only to somehow find myself in you again
but then waking up to you being so far away--physically and emotionally.
I feel like I've just seen you, heard you laugh, felt your touch
only to realize that those moments are just figments of my subconscious.
You're not even real, and yet I wake and find myself missing you
or being upset over something you've said.
Whatever happened to sleep belonging to me?
Displaying my deepest desires, showing me what to make of my circumstances...
Are you now over-powering my desires and my circumstances?
You have way too much control over my mind, my feelings;
I can't stop thinking.
I can't stop feeling
Nothing seems to belong to me anymore.
Now the one moment I find peace you somehow meet me there--
whether it be a smile or a scowl.
Either I dread sleep or I look forward to it, it doesn't matter.
All roads lead right back to you.
I used to love sleeping,
escaping from my harsh reality into what seemed like perfection.
But now when I think I'm escaping my reality,
it's there in my dreams, slyly smiling in my face.

In Class Thoughts

You ever write something, forget about it, and then find it again months later? This happens to me ALL THE TIME! This piece was written while I was sitting in one of my classes. I had become frustrated about the way the class was going and tuned out, writing this. This doesn't have a title; I was just "speaking my mind." I know that race is a very touchy, sensitive topic, and I do not mean to offend anyone nor is this about any particular individual. This is simply my thoughts.

The white man told me that I, too, could live the dream of being in a world with fellow intellectuals, 
to have thought-provoking seminars and participate in many leisure activities on the green pasture.
But little did we know as we signed away the check we were striking a deal with the devil.
Ignorance stalks by me as I walk, it lives in the dorms at every corner I turn, it even lies in the bed across from mine.
I try to ignore it but it flaunts so viciously that I can't help but notice it.
There is a lack of hunger to want to learn more
and instead is substituted with just wanting to pass.
And they judge me now because of the color of my skin and ostracize me out of their college games.
This isn't what I signed up for.

Coffee Shop Blues

We meet at our usual spot again--
completely secluded from the rest of the world.
And time.
We fill up each other's mugs with laughter,
toast to carefree evenings,
drink the day away,
get high off of nostalgia,
sit in silence and stare in each other's eyes.
I'm afraid to admit that I'm falling more and more in love with you
so when you ask why I'm staring I shake my head
and take another sip,
turning my attention to the spilled reflection of the sunset into the lake.
How beautiful.
I do mean you too.
We wrap ourselves up into each other and kiss away bad yesterdays
for this moment here is all that really matters.
When it's closing time, I'm simply overwhelmed with sadness
that time wouldn't permit us another cup.

Can't we always live in this world and just call it ours?

Haunted

When night comes and nothing but the soft, evening breeze fills my ears,
I can hear him coming.
I avert my eyes away from the door--
I know he is standing there.
Please, I plead, just go.
He doesn't say a word but continues to just--stand there. Waiting.
If I pretend he isn't there and fall asleep somehow he will enter my dreams and I'm awake again.
Other times he'll lie right next to me and then I can't sleep.
One night I asked him, What do you want from me? and he unpacked all of which I had stored away--
and I wept. Hysterically. Quietly. 
How could you be so cruel? To me?
He won't leave, and I don't know how to make him stay away.
But every night.
Every. 
Single.
Night.
He's there.
At my door.
Waiting.
I don't know what to do with him. Would you like an invitation to bother my spirit some more?
To interrupt my mind once again?
To cause more damage and then leave?
Nothing.
No response. 
During the day he's gone and I can finally sleep.
But I dread nighttime because I know
he'll be here once again.

Last Poem (Lyrics Medley)

I don't think I could keep writing you into poetry anymore...you've lost the privilege to have such recognition. And my heart wishes it hadn't come to this. I've been writing to resurrect you to no avail.

I'm so tired of all the love wounds.
Loving you is like running, like I'm chasing down a loving and there's no finish line in sight.
I would have gone to the ends of the Earth for you even though you didn't ask me to just to make you feel my love.
I would have rather gone through storms with you 
than be enamored of someone else
but my heart can't take any more of you and I'm simply just getting used to you no longer being here.
I let my heart take its chances just to be loved by you 
but now you're gone and I'm missing you when I really shouldn't have to...why do you choose to be incapable of loving me too?

I remember when you filled my heart with joy
I was so mesmerized by the shape of your eyes and the bass in your laugh and the way you saw me, I've been lost in you...you don't see me anymore.
You've so easily set me aside. I've come to the dark realization that I can never touch you again when I had to ask for permission to place my hand on your cheek...someone else has been there, too, it seems.
And I've cried.
I have lain in soaked bed sheets for over a year, hoping they'd create tracks to help you find your way back to me.
My heart and my mind have been in constant battle
It kills me to know how much I really love you and you play it so cool, I can't tell anymore if you love me still.
You said you 'd always be there for me and that things would be okay...I waited for you, but you never showed. 

I've taken everything that is you and your poems too and buried them deep deep inside of me because I've given up this fight so when night comes I'll slip away so that I'll just be a dream you remember when you wake up in the morning but then will eventually forget. 

You're the one that I love, and I'm saying goodbye.

(Featuring lyrics from: Adele, Eric Benet, Anthony Hamilton, Jennifer Hudson, Melanie Fiona, Me'shell NdegeOcello, and A Great Big World.)