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.

the cycle of forgettting

I didn't realize how badly
I wanted you around,
until you decided
to describe me
as something that you
constantly remember.
After not spending
over 15 years,
in the home
that nursed my scabbed
knees,
and held my
Sunday dinners,
I could barely remember
what color the walls were.
(how interesting is it
that I remember the short
rose bush
that housed pink roses,
outside in the front of the house)
I thought I would have a
harder time
remembering something
that I thought
I had forgotten.
I thought I had forgotten you.
Love showed me otherwise.
(The roses are still blooming)

One Day, You will love me

to the man that will love me
unconditionally,
for eternity.
your gentleness is appreciated.
your sensitivity,
when the world tells you to be
hard,
is noticed,
and adored.
your strength to tell me
the truth,
even when it burns the
tip of your tongue,
I am thankful for that.
While you learn
the curves of my body,
as well as the change
in my tone,
patience will be understood,
forgiveness will be known,
love will always be there.

understanding

I want him to understand
that sometimes,
I am full of an innocent joy.
I will wake up,
as goofy as a child on an early Saturday morning,
and I will leave corny
love letters
throughout the day,
bringing across the laughter
of a youth
seeing a clown.
Other days,
I want him to be the fire inside of my mind,
and slightly burning up my thighs,
and the kisses on my neck,
and
I want him to be here,
beside me,
under me,
on top of me.
But..
sometimes, I am
cold.
I prefer to be left alone,
to experience my feelings
by myself.
Sometimes I will act like I don't
want him around,
but I will expect him to love me anyways.
I will expect him to love me anyways.
on the darkest days,
on the days where nothing but passion
flows out of my mouth,
and some days I will want the youth
of love.

you are the strongest tree

honey,
you are as sweet as sugar.
your words soothe aching souls.
your arms have embraced
not only the most broken,
but also yourself.
don't give up on yourself.
don't give up on the love you
have to give.
let yourself grow,
lose leaves,
break some branches.
just remember you are getting
stronger,
making room for
better leaves.
gaining stronger roots.

forgetfulness

Your name is another collection of letters
in the alphabet I learned when I was younger.
It no longer forms a specific word to me,
nothing special,
just a cluster of letters
that will be forgotten as soon
as I rest my bags at the door
and start a midday snack.
Comfort.
Because when we were young,
we weren't confined to our
memories of the
hurt,
the boy that picked on us,
the girl that had the "cooties".
By the time the day was over,
we only had our future dreams.
Your name is just another nightmare
in the past,
another thing I'll forget as I rise
in the morning.

i love you like the sun

you are my favorite kind of love,
one that reflects
the brightest,
sweetest
parts of me.

self love is crucial

figure out how to love the deepest,
most painful parts of yourself first,
then you'll be able to love others
properly,
with more ease.

you are trying to hide the fact that you are weak

I hope that one day the world makes
you soft and kind,
to make up for all of the years
you wasted thinking that being harsh
was equal to strength.

a piece of me

I tend to lose little pieces of me
wherever I stop and take a rest.
every time I step forward,
I contemplate walking back,
to make myself whole.
I have revisited places,
I have revisited people.
My pieces are no longer
my pieces.
They have found homes
in other people.
They have molded into new
concepts,
new ideas,
new feelings.
I used to walk back,
I try to carry myself
when my feet get tired,
my ankles have rolled,
my heart has given up.
I used to drag myself
lifeless,
in hopes of gaining parts of me back.
Sometimes when holding on to things,
parts that weren't really supposed to be
part of you anyways,
things fall apart.
Worry about what is keeping you together,
not the things that you've left
behind.

Waiting.

I can hear the ticking
of the clock above my head
impatiently mocking
the fact that I have become
a fool for your love.
Silent like a waiting room,
my thoughts are the only
whispers I hear in the
silence of your absence.
The replay of your voice
moaning my name.
My heart still misses a beat
when I hear from you,
my fingers still scream
to feel curve of your neck,
your head in the palm in my hands.
Time doesn't wait for any man,
so why am I not as precious
as the thing that ages us in life.
the thing that manipulates
our feelings
our actions.
I'm waiting for the clock to scream
out that you love me,
that you want me.
But when I feel closer,
time just pulls us farther apart.
I'm running out of seconds,
my minutes have lost their value.
I'm still waiting for our hour.