kingdom

there is nothing
more
painful
than watching
my black
brothers,
king made
beings,
with such
mighty blood
pumping
through strong veins,
being treated
with such
hatred.
they want you
to believe
that you are a carcass,
found on the side of the road,
with no significance,
only there
for the lowest of animals,
the dirtiest of animals
to feed off of your
death.
they forget your royalty.
you,
black men,
you belong at the top of the sun,
shining down,
glistening,
walking
with grace.
you,
black men,
you deserve to sit on
top of clouds,
smiling and laughing
and living life
with such glory.
blackness is not a disease.
it is a blessing.
and while the vultures,
the maggots,
work sun up
and sun down
to destroy you,
you will always
be the king
of this jungle.

lovers nature

I'll journey softly with you,
careful enough not
to ruin your leaves,
and upset your roots,
but beside you,
so you can know that
I am the wind,
gently blowing
with
you.

would you still like me to love you

i am the wind.
you are the land.
and i am not sure how to touch you
without causing you damage.

lovers in a broken city

he considered me a
beautiful catastrophe,
a city
that built itself up
and let itself fall
over and over again.
we described my mind
as the most intricate
architecture.
he became my favorite
late night phone call.
my favorite
only distant lover.
he was a transfusion,
that would flow through
my veins,
explaining his need
to be there.
he was different,
and he needed nothing more,
but to show his
genuine intentions,
and he received love.
he wanted to grasp
he wanted to understand
what made my skin crawl,
what made my knees weak,
what made rain fall from my eyes.
he wanted to understand how
the sun set every night,
into darkness,
and rose again
in the morning,
as strong and beautiful as before.
he wanted to walk with me.

you captured color with your eyes, i captured it with my words

i took out my box
of all the knicks and knacks
i use to craft things
almost as beautiful as you.
you sat there,
in the dim light
slightly shivering
because you wanted to
be crafted bare,
which wasn't much of a surprise
you took pride in your nudity.
no shade of brown that i had
was beautiful enough
to represent you.
so i decided to make art
as colorful as your personality.
i took your love
and shaded the canvas with
deep reds and soft pinks,
careful not to make it too defined
however not too wild.
i took your compassion
and paired with with sunny yellows,
everlasting greens.
my favorite part of you,
your beauty,
was as effortless as the sky,
so i shaded it as such,
light and night time blues.
you were a reason to wake up
in the mornings.
you were as mysterious as
midnight.
your passion i made
with bright reds,
eye catching oranges.
i finished you with white,
you're not easily seen by some,
but with the right people,
you shine brighter than a star.
you're more beautiful than a masterpiece.
you are more beautiful than what i could ever draw.

is that enough

I still believe in you,
is that enough?
even though you have become
an unrecognizable face
in the crowd
until you decide you are lonely
and decide you want to get a taste
of my world again
(however, that only lasts a second).
I don't know where you went.
I don't know where the love
went.
I don't know what the love is.
shit,
I don't know what I did.
But I'm still here,
I still believe in you
and on your darkest hours,
remember that I am sending you
the brightest light.
I am still cheering you on,
even though I'm not on the field,
I'm hiding behind the stands
until you acknowledge me again.

Touch

and when he whispered
his lips became a
feather to my ear,
leaving me with a
sensation only virgins feel
after their second or third time
being kissed below their waist.
he thinks I don't notice
the pulse of his manhood
as he tried to brush
his lips across mine.
it started with a touch of the hand,
the lightest touch of his fingers,
making love to my wrist,
singing a beautiful
lust story,
causing a crave
that neither one of us were
suppose to desire.
you were long,
and drawn out,
and you took your time to
place your lips
on mine,
and relax my mind.
it's like a broken vhs,
the way my mind replays
how your voice sounded
when you told me to
"relax".
Never kiss a poet,
the way your tongue felt
going down my side
gave me enough inspiration
to write love poems,
lust poems,
and all of that in between.
You did something to me,
that I'm not entirely sure
that I've felt before.