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.

Now That It's Finally Over

Pain has become the incessant flow of lovers
who stay for only one night and I ask to leave in the morning
because I don't remember their names, or don't want to remember
They are either nothing like you or too much like you
And I can't decide which is worst
How late nights and early mornings are fraternal twins
I don't make an effort to distinguish because
I see no point
I'll pour myself another glass of wine before I pour my heart out
so that I can blame this senseless act on not being sober enough
Even though sobriety feels like this constant that hasn't existed
Having now spent countless nights obsessing over
what was real and what was fake
Which one of us was the impostor?
You pretended to be sincere and I pretended to believe you
I thought that I would finally be able to breathe when it ended
but as I listened to the last thing you said to me
your hand already wrapped around my heart
tightened and yanked at it so hard
I can still feel your fingertips and palm there
I lie in bed at night and have to remind my body to take deep breaths
you've suffocated me for so long I don't remember how to breathe
A laying on of hands
Fingers pressed tightly into my throat still
I see you doing what I wanted for me
and the soreness in my chest returns as I realize
you only do for whom you really want
Now that it's finally over
my love has yet to waver
it's just standing in the empty dirt paths of my soul
arms outstretched for you
watching you grow smaller and smaller
Wishing it had never opened up for you in the first place.

5AM Jazz Musings

this morning
i fell asleep to melancholy jazz.

the darkness in my room overcame me.
ever since i was a little girl 
i've been afraid of the dark. 

but the humming from my radio
cradled me, lulled me to sleep

until the sounds became 
so hypnotizing/so numbing 

that they melted into my thoughts
that manifested into dreams.

and i dreamed of being loved,
of gentle kisses on collarbones and foreheads.

i dreamed of poetry's and jazz's romance,
of their manifested languages lying in my arms, I'm kissing
its eyelids like it had done to me once.

when i woke up the music had stopped
and the first thing i saw was your picture on my wall,
your eyes staring so intently at me.

i used to love him. 

Once Upon A Dream

I used to dream of midnights in Paris
a large bay window overlooking the Seine River
lying in white bed sheets staring at the city lights
and of course my Black King and I
basking in the sanctity of our love
We would be magic.

Now I dream of dark alleyways 
and tainted bed sheets of betrayal
I am but a beggar in rain
asking for my things back
glaring into his eyes
as he smiles into hers.

At First Sight

I looked at him the way one looks at art--
first taken aback, then mesmerized
by his lines in his bare back
and the way his deep brown skin glistened
as the sun kissed him
the way I wanted to--
soft and gentle
he was my kind of poetry
the kind you read over chai tea and milk
on a rainy Sunday afternoon
the kind that tugs at your soul
and you lose yourself for a moment
I wanted to stay lost in him
for as long as I could
He was a beautiful masterpiece.

Unrequited

Under a lone streetlight
I stood as rain drenched my entire body
my hands outstretched with my heart in them
tears falling relentlessly
as you walked ahead of me
your arm draped around her neck
a kiss placed against her forehead
All I ever wanted was to love.

Reign

And he fell like rain on a Thursday afternoon.

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.

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

Romance

What ever happened to Romance?
The sweet dance in dim light to jazz musicians
His rhythmic, steady sway sending shivers down my spine
A sip of Roscato wine as he stares into my eyes
Undressing my mind and not my red dress this time
Do you mind? he would say
Extends his hand to mine and whisks me away into the night
We would explore the city's nightlife 
With palms clasped like praying hands
Praying that this isn't another fall from grace
Preying on only laughter and smiles 
He barely brushes his lips against my right cheek
His fingers lightly resting on the small of my back
Aimlessly guiding me through the beginning spaces of his heart
Showing me his artistic lines and poetic melodies 
His honesty is almost overwhelming
I would almost be foolish to not give this a chance
This is, after all, a first taste of Romance
He would then take my hand and twirl me in the street
And if it rains--
Even better
May I have this last dance? he would say
I throw my head back
And laugh into the rain

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.

"How do you know that you love me?"

"How do you know that you love me?" he asked, not because he didn't believe she did, but because he was genuinely curious. 

She giggled, tugging at a loose stitching in her pants. After some time, she finally said: "You know how in The Giver Jonas sees the color red for the first time, and he's, like, really excited? That's how it is every single time I see you. You bring a certain calmness to my spirit. You're always with me wherever I go. It's like when you wake up on the first day of Spring and smell the Spring air coming through your window." She turned to him and smile. "If that doesn't make sense, then just accept that I just do. There's no explanation or logic when it comes to love."

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?

When I Was a Little Girl

When I was a little girl I wanted to be beautiful.

I wanted long, silky hair that grew down my back. 
I wanted to paint my face like the women in Ma's Black Hair magazines. 
I wanted to "smize" the way Tyra Banks taught her aspiring models. 
I wanted to stop traffic and turn heads by simply walking like Marilyn Monroe in her movies, 
with her shoulders tucked back and her head held high and the way her hips would swivel. 
I wanted a man to fall in love with my eyes, 
because they were the only things on the outside of me that could never tell a lie and when he did, 
I would know that he was okay with who I was. 
And once he discovered my truth, he would think I was even more beautiful 
and love me even more.

When I was a little girl I wanted to be loved, too.

Not like the cliched lie Disney told,
where a perfect princess in an unfortunate circumstance is rescued by a charming prince
whom she never met before and fall absolutely in love and live

happily. ever. after.

I wanted him to stay long enough and dig behind the makeup, the laughter, the smile
and to find my nakedness enchanting and captivating.
I could stand before him with puffy eyes filled with tears and my heart on my sleeve--
and he wouldn't run away.
He'd find me even more beautiful than before.

When I was a little girl I wanted to be beautiful enough to be truly loved.