ceremonies that we has

 

i was very conscious in mah choice to spend the night with with you

cause i coulda been in mah own bed- where monsters only come out if i want them too an’ flowers is paths to places i kept locked in mah mind an’ i can roll around in mah own sheets cause they’re mine and i like owning them that way. 

but yes, i was very conscious in that choice.

cause its a delicate thing to lay with someone an’ hear them breath- listen to their being caught between worlds of different makings an’ observe the movements their chest makes, an’ wonder about where they are- if your lips are there with them, or if they’re happy constructing universes 

i did that, i made mah choice. an’ i is glad that that night was us

cause it was a new moon- an’ i had water out for intention, an’ mah room wasn’t as clean as i like it to be on the beginning of a new cycle, an’ mah heart still needs to process but i is glad for us. cause we started this new cycle digging up dirt, an’ planting seeds, an’ drinking whiskey an’ playin cards. mhmm. we did. 

 

 

confessions and guarantees

i can confess to movings made in lust 

and weakness.

i can say that i 

have been apart of the sea of silhouettes in longing

and that i’ve been one, under the moon, with loneliness in my eyes.

him is someone distant

someone who may not come through at all

show up at all…

what has been given to me is myself 

and so, with moon water made, im finding pieces left throughout boulevards

and i ain’t as well put together as i used to be

and thats colored in some small kind of sadness

but i can barely notice in moonlight cause it colors different.

im finding pieces left throughout boulevards 

that is new.

 

 

 

last night.

I went to the city last night
Where none know me
and I wished you were there
breathin soft on my neck like you used to do

I wrote us a story.
I hope that dont sound silly
itsbeen a month of Sundays
and I know talkin ain’t been much between us
but I still did
I wrote it
and I kinda hope you see it written there in our colors

how you like me.

you like me submissive

like some bitch- open for use

a hole

to be bred and pumped

full of your cum and misery.

 

touching is for your own pleasure,

rights and permissions.

 

because i ,like the boys before me,

will suffer you, for now.

 

In our longing for shinning armor,

horse backs, candle light, dope dick,

and lips wet with emotion

there you stood- erect

with promises.

 

I am growing tired of once a month fucks,

forced embraces and half held “hi’s” preluding

“lemme see that ass”, “suck me”, “you like this dick?” and “roll over”

 

You like me submissive

because i am for you.

like i am for you.

A Poem For Viola

the question remains no longer

as to whether this soul encounter will birth brilliance strong enough to heal worlds.

 

whether or not I am ready to learn all that could be at the side of such a being.

 

whether or not I am courageous enough to accept and give your love- which is unending.

 

soul turning. love pushing

you bring me out the know myself

to see myself, in honesty.

like light sat down.

cause that is what you do for you.

 

investigation. curiosity and revolution.

 

Viola, a name as pure and as strong as the spirit which it decorates.

And as the moon has its place in wombs, ceremonies and intentions, I love you dearly.

you

who makes laughter with misery

sets twisters to earth

breaks convention

and rebuilds society.

 

I honor you.

With every movement of my heart

and breath that I speak.

when seeing old friends

Its sweet

that my heart after so long,

can still pull out the same

longing.

that we still can find each other resting in the shells we left.

A hint of joy

and sunlight powerful enough to

eclipse the nasty arguments, un-returned calls and side eyes.

Its funny that the awkwardness has stayed

and that you can still be found near the center of me

and that maybe leaving you was a little incorrect

and that makes me hurt for you more

and… I miss you friend.

Words for the Week.

words. for. the. week.

Life is constant transition. Western thought, which seeks immortality and eternal wealth for the individual, opposes transition and change because it posits a dissonance with the very universe as opposed to a healthy praxis that seeks peace with the ebbs and flows of existence. Recently, I was hurt very deeply by a good friend. And though I have visions of community with this person in the future, in the moment I am hurt and angry. When I woke up this morning I looked at the “Healing Words Freewrite” and drew inspiration from it. Here is what came about:

“Healing Words”

Im serching for some healing words

Some kind of soul tinged piece of loving to rouse me in the morning

Some kind of faint comfort whispered in my ear.

Some joy wrapped sunlight

or mama’s laughter bottled.

I want some healing words that stick to your ribs

move and inspire you.

Help transcend beyond strife and transgression.

Yea. . .

at this moment some healing words would be nice.

Chill

I confessed this love to you on purpose.

Brought you what joy I kept for myself after living in the world.

Roused some courage from dust and spit.

And I loved you.

Fiercely.

 

In the moments after rejection.

I wondered if I could have kissed you better than I could have told you.

If loving you as a friend would do anything more than destroy me.

If my heart could take the beauty of your smile or the life in your voice.

If one day another man could come and melt the ice from my bones.

 

I feel an awful chill inside of me.

 

 

 

 

 

. . .because it’s raining

I get all swoon-filled and romantic in the rain.

Here is one of my favorite romantic songs ever. No one can touch The Stylistics

Black Wealth

People often ask me why I am such a avid promoter of Black love, meaning why am I always saying that Black people need to couple with one another.

“Are you close minded?”
“Are you racist?”
“You are discriminating.”

Not even. In a world where Black people are alienated from themselves, and taught that they are not beautiful in the eyes of one another, it is important that we begin to combat the ways in which that wicked psychology manifest. Advocating Black love is not denouncing interracial couplings but instead acknowledging that which has been lost. Black self worth.

“Black love is Black wealth” – Nikki Giovanni