Tuesday, November 16, 2010
I AM POET
I am poet…I say things in ways you couldn’t imagine, I put words on paper in patterns most people couldn’t fathom, I touch masses…through individualized literary interactions, one mind at a time, I am poet…
I write poems for people who don’t even know I exist, I resist the temptation to be normal, so I speak to people who will probably never hear me, but I hope they know I exist, I persist through difficult times, hoping my words might find the person who needs them, I am poet.
I cut my chest open and bleed my passion, unfolding my flaws in front of audiences of strangers so you might walk away and stop masking, walk away unafraid to be who you are, let people see who you are, My poetry is about me cutting myself so you don’t have to wear those scars, I am poet.
I sit in loud silence listening to thunderous whispers…society inspires me to push a pen against paper until my fingers have blisters because somewhere, some child needs an older brother or sister, and my words might raise a future generation because I am poet.
I speak my words as often as possible, because my words might help someone else pass through obstacles, I speak for others to overcome, I write for many not for some, but I write with the hope that when all is said and done I might have touched just one, I am poet.
My red badge of courage is the blood ink stained pages of my testimony, my written statements are the medals of honor of the wars you once fought, I don’t write for the money because my words cannot be bought, I am poet.
I speak in paradigms, giving you both the blessing and the curse, I am opposite, like a shallow heart having worth, I give birth…I am poet
Everything I write will not be a masterpiece, yet it will be a masterfully mastered piece when I speak, I speak what I write so I might reach, I reach with all my might so I might teach, I am poet.
I am poet, and if no one else knows it, I will still continue to show it…plants seeds of intelligence and grow it, give honor to god for my talent and bestow it, I am poet.
PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS
Can I offer you a penny for your thoughts?
As a matter of fact, how about three?
One penny for you, one penny for me,
And one penny for our minds engaged not so sexually.
Getting intimately closer as we approach the
Climatic altitude of nude, mental, sensational... conversation.
Because I’m trying to get to know everything about you
From the neck... UP.
So these are not your typical, sexual, poetical prose.
I’m trying to close the door on that all too familiar freaky foreplay game.
With which most guys have chose to approach you.
While they are trying to get deeply imbedded
In the fine fibers of your bed sheets,
I’m trying to find and define the fibers of which your mind speaks.
I want to engage you
By putting a two karat solitaire diamond on your mind
Marrying your every thought!
I want to lick every inch of every crevasse
So I can get an oral fix from each orifice
And taste you passionate IMAGINATION.
Id rather be naked and exposed, holding you
As we're lying and you're crying
While confiding and describing
the tough times you’ve had in life
And how you don’t know
If you can keep a relationship long enough to be somebody's wife.
I wanna feel the heartbeat of your inner rhythms
As they lead me toward your warm, wet, waterfalls of feminine thoughts.
And ill swim in them.
From backstrokes, to breaststrokes,
I’m penetrating every entrance... to your mind.
Taking my time to find out everything about you.
Did I ever tell you about how you
Fell asleep in my presence?
And your mere essence
Kept me awake for hours
As I cowered with this feeling
Of sexually unadulterated mental connection?
And as you lay by my side
I pushed the blinds aside
And took the time in the moonlight of that night
To count 72 eyelashes
On the upper eyelid of your right eye!
Because when you sleep
Your eyes remain open slightly.
And while we probably moves in too quickly into some sexual shit
I’ve always cared more about the explicitly illicitness
That came from between you lips…meaning your voice.
So now I am standing here
Ready to trade in all the sexual acts that we've preformed
For the chance to reform the very foundation
And the basis of our relationship.
So I reiterate my opening statement
And I offer you another penny for your thoughts!
As a matter of fact, how about three?
One penny for you, one penny for me,
And one penny for our minds engaged not so sexually.
Getting intimately closer as we approach the
Climatic altitude of nude, mental, sensational... conversation.
Because I’m trying to get to know everything about you
From the neck... UP.
So these are not your typical, sexual, poetical prose.
I’m trying to close the door on that all too familiar freaky foreplay game.
With which most guys have chose to approach you.
While they are trying to get deeply imbedded
In the fine fibers of your bed sheets,
I’m trying to find and define the fibers of which your mind speaks.
I want to engage you
By putting a two karat solitaire diamond on your mind
Marrying your every thought!
I want to lick every inch of every crevasse
So I can get an oral fix from each orifice
And taste you passionate IMAGINATION.
Id rather be naked and exposed, holding you
As we're lying and you're crying
While confiding and describing
the tough times you’ve had in life
And how you don’t know
If you can keep a relationship long enough to be somebody's wife.
I wanna feel the heartbeat of your inner rhythms
As they lead me toward your warm, wet, waterfalls of feminine thoughts.
And ill swim in them.
From backstrokes, to breaststrokes,
I’m penetrating every entrance... to your mind.
Taking my time to find out everything about you.
Did I ever tell you about how you
Fell asleep in my presence?
And your mere essence
Kept me awake for hours
As I cowered with this feeling
Of sexually unadulterated mental connection?
And as you lay by my side
I pushed the blinds aside
And took the time in the moonlight of that night
To count 72 eyelashes
On the upper eyelid of your right eye!
Because when you sleep
Your eyes remain open slightly.
And while we probably moves in too quickly into some sexual shit
I’ve always cared more about the explicitly illicitness
That came from between you lips…meaning your voice.
So now I am standing here
Ready to trade in all the sexual acts that we've preformed
For the chance to reform the very foundation
And the basis of our relationship.
So I reiterate my opening statement
And I offer you another penny for your thoughts!
LISTEN
She told me she wanted me to listen…so I said to what?
She said listen to the heartbeat of all the memories of my failed relationships
and then love me like the cure for cancer.
Answer the questions of my life with silence and sometimes “just listen.”
You don’t wear a halo and I don’t need a saving grace,
just embrace my pain enough to feel it.
You don’t need to illuminate my problems and make my wrongs right.
Even the sun must let the earth sit in darkness at night.
I can shine on my own, I just need you to be there. Be there like air.
Even present when I don’t know it, be the silent foundation of my life. Support me.
Be my pulse, invisible to those around me but still real. Real cause I can feel you.
She said, sometimes, I just want to know I can count on you.
Add you like math to the equation of life.
Be my quotient, the sum of my parts, beat with my heart, be in sync with me.
Co-write the story of my life as if you were inked with me.
Tattoo yourself to my hope so I can carry you into my dreams.
Sleep with me so we can share the same dreams and then seam our souls together.
Stitch me into the fabric of your fantasies and once again answer me with simple silence.
She said just listen.
Send me a silent stare, talk to me with a kiss, miss me when I’m still with you.
Resist the temptation to touch me and yet still caress me.
Bless me, treat me like a temple.
Worship within my walls and fall into my future.
Suture away my wounds and heal me.
Stand in the next room and still feel me.
She said, be the center of my universe.
Rehearse me like poetry. Speak me into existence.
Make me your adjective and describe us.
Trust me enough to show it, show me enough to know it, know it enough to believe it,
relieve me of the wonder and understand it.
She told me she wanted me to listen…so I did.
She said listen to the heartbeat of all the memories of my failed relationships
and then love me like the cure for cancer.
Answer the questions of my life with silence and sometimes “just listen.”
You don’t wear a halo and I don’t need a saving grace,
just embrace my pain enough to feel it.
You don’t need to illuminate my problems and make my wrongs right.
Even the sun must let the earth sit in darkness at night.
I can shine on my own, I just need you to be there. Be there like air.
Even present when I don’t know it, be the silent foundation of my life. Support me.
Be my pulse, invisible to those around me but still real. Real cause I can feel you.
She said, sometimes, I just want to know I can count on you.
Add you like math to the equation of life.
Be my quotient, the sum of my parts, beat with my heart, be in sync with me.
Co-write the story of my life as if you were inked with me.
Tattoo yourself to my hope so I can carry you into my dreams.
Sleep with me so we can share the same dreams and then seam our souls together.
Stitch me into the fabric of your fantasies and once again answer me with simple silence.
She said just listen.
Send me a silent stare, talk to me with a kiss, miss me when I’m still with you.
Resist the temptation to touch me and yet still caress me.
Bless me, treat me like a temple.
Worship within my walls and fall into my future.
Suture away my wounds and heal me.
Stand in the next room and still feel me.
She said, be the center of my universe.
Rehearse me like poetry. Speak me into existence.
Make me your adjective and describe us.
Trust me enough to show it, show me enough to know it, know it enough to believe it,
relieve me of the wonder and understand it.
She told me she wanted me to listen…so I did.
10 CONFESSIONS
I find you irresistible, insatiable, visions of your body on my mind, inerasable, irreplaceable. Hair in a ponytail, eyes bright like the moon. You’re my mid-summer-night’s dream, and I’m dying to get you in between my sheets. Captivated by your voice every time you speak. I’m dying to get next to you, have sex with you, I’ve got a lot of feelings I must confess to you. But first, let m ego back and change sex to love, because when I think of you, that’s all I’m thinking of. That’s confession number ONE and I’m far from done. Here’s confession number Two, thinking you, and me, and where I wanna be, and how in a few years from now we can start a family. Confession number THREE you see, is how I wanna be, together forever, live happily ever, after, through time, you and me combined, in body and soul and mind. Carry you across the threshold, through the door, to confession number FOUR. Its bubble bath by candlelight, make love to you all night, on a bed, covered by the petals of a rose so sweet. I wanna kiss you all over from your head to your feet. And I envision your body tasting like wine so I’ll take my time, and get drunk off the volume that I’d consume, highly intoxicated by the love that you provide…confession number FIVE, is thoughts of you and I in a world where our love’s unfurled. I wanna lay next to you on bed, curled, up, as we lay in the light of the moon, music playing…soft jazz tunes. As I look at your body in the light of the night, and everything’s right, and everything’s tight, and firm and round…I’m getting too excited so let me slow down…
Confession number SIX is a thought I have of giving you things, not materialistic objects like golden rings, but if you wanna fly, I’ll provide you with wings. After all, what’s gold gonna do for us, but turn to rust, you can’t even taken it to Heaven, that brings me to SEVEN. I told you before I wanna live happily ever after, but what about after-life, yes I mean death, will our love continue after our lungs lose their breath? I don’t know, but I hope so, cause when humanity’s through, I wanna move onto eternity with you. Confession number EIGHT, is how I contemplate, spending long nights thinking of a life with you, honest and true, consumed by love in all that do. Moving mountains, parting seas, just to be with you. Confession number NINE, is next in line, can’t be bound by body place or time when our worlds combine. Or should I say collide, hold on for the ride\, because I’m taking you over hills and through valley lows, dinner by candlelight, Broadway shows, picnics by sunset, spending nights with no clothes. Scented candle light flickers in the dark, shadows of our love making, caste on the wall, a testimony to the art, of breathtaking, bed shaking, back breaking, love making. Confession number TEN is last but not least. With you in my life, my life’s compete. There’s no other place I’d rather be, then at your side through eternity. I’ll be your rock, your strength, and your confidant. I’ll give you all that you need and all that you want. And when you’ve got it all, I’ll give you more. Just give a chance and open your door, to the possibilities of me and you, or you and I, or should I say us…trust me, you and I add up beautifully. Like one plus one plus one equals three. Guaranteed to stay the same, forever unchanged…a testimony to things divine. But if you can’t give me all that I ask, won’t you commit to one simple task. Let’s spend some time, you and I, together. And for that one little moment…we can be lost in forever.
Confession number SIX is a thought I have of giving you things, not materialistic objects like golden rings, but if you wanna fly, I’ll provide you with wings. After all, what’s gold gonna do for us, but turn to rust, you can’t even taken it to Heaven, that brings me to SEVEN. I told you before I wanna live happily ever after, but what about after-life, yes I mean death, will our love continue after our lungs lose their breath? I don’t know, but I hope so, cause when humanity’s through, I wanna move onto eternity with you. Confession number EIGHT, is how I contemplate, spending long nights thinking of a life with you, honest and true, consumed by love in all that do. Moving mountains, parting seas, just to be with you. Confession number NINE, is next in line, can’t be bound by body place or time when our worlds combine. Or should I say collide, hold on for the ride\, because I’m taking you over hills and through valley lows, dinner by candlelight, Broadway shows, picnics by sunset, spending nights with no clothes. Scented candle light flickers in the dark, shadows of our love making, caste on the wall, a testimony to the art, of breathtaking, bed shaking, back breaking, love making. Confession number TEN is last but not least. With you in my life, my life’s compete. There’s no other place I’d rather be, then at your side through eternity. I’ll be your rock, your strength, and your confidant. I’ll give you all that you need and all that you want. And when you’ve got it all, I’ll give you more. Just give a chance and open your door, to the possibilities of me and you, or you and I, or should I say us…trust me, you and I add up beautifully. Like one plus one plus one equals three. Guaranteed to stay the same, forever unchanged…a testimony to things divine. But if you can’t give me all that I ask, won’t you commit to one simple task. Let’s spend some time, you and I, together. And for that one little moment…we can be lost in forever.
WHAT ARE YOU FIGHTING FOR?
I would stand amidst the fists, on the battlefield,
amongst an army of red and an army of blue
and I'd stand tall and true, as I ask you
"what, are your fighting for?"
This 4 foot by 4 foot concrete block you're arguing for, and bartering for
is merely a prison without bars that still manages to arrest you
by confining you mind
and you allow this corner to define you
and you're redefining yourself by calling yourself a street corner entrepreneur
and I ask you "what, are you fighting for?"
..You see, I'm fighting for you
because I'm sick and tired of watching you destroy your lives
while you divide and conquer yourselves
so I'm trying my hardest to bring you back, together, again
I'm sick and tired of this happening over and over and over again
and I can no longer pretend its not happening,
because now…its getting to close to home
now your standing on corners I used to call my own
corners I once considered a safe zone
but now…I'm too afraid to let my mother walk to the store alone
because these streets…they're covered with cowardly fake gangsters
and I'm angered…at the nonsense
that rag on your head, is somehow keeping, knowledge from seeping, into your brain
don't you see that you're dying for nothing
rather than living for something
you're self destructing
and just messing yourselves over
and I ask you "what, are you fighting for?"
You're waging wars
over something that never was, and never will be yours
because "owning the streets"
is just a fictitious concept
that gets misused by hip hop dudes trying to pass themselves off as reincarnated gangsters
so contrary to popular belief
no matter how deep your gang is
or how much money you think you'll make from crack rocks
the only concrete blocks you'll ever own
are the ones that come with steel bars
or the ones we call tombstones
so I guess the only decisions left for you to choose
is whether the fabric in y our casket
should be red, or blue
and I ask "what…are you dying for?"
amongst an army of red and an army of blue
and I'd stand tall and true, as I ask you
"what, are your fighting for?"
This 4 foot by 4 foot concrete block you're arguing for, and bartering for
is merely a prison without bars that still manages to arrest you
by confining you mind
and you allow this corner to define you
and you're redefining yourself by calling yourself a street corner entrepreneur
and I ask you "what, are you fighting for?"
..You see, I'm fighting for you
because I'm sick and tired of watching you destroy your lives
while you divide and conquer yourselves
so I'm trying my hardest to bring you back, together, again
I'm sick and tired of this happening over and over and over again
and I can no longer pretend its not happening,
because now…its getting to close to home
now your standing on corners I used to call my own
corners I once considered a safe zone
but now…I'm too afraid to let my mother walk to the store alone
because these streets…they're covered with cowardly fake gangsters
and I'm angered…at the nonsense
that rag on your head, is somehow keeping, knowledge from seeping, into your brain
don't you see that you're dying for nothing
rather than living for something
you're self destructing
and just messing yourselves over
and I ask you "what, are you fighting for?"
You're waging wars
over something that never was, and never will be yours
because "owning the streets"
is just a fictitious concept
that gets misused by hip hop dudes trying to pass themselves off as reincarnated gangsters
so contrary to popular belief
no matter how deep your gang is
or how much money you think you'll make from crack rocks
the only concrete blocks you'll ever own
are the ones that come with steel bars
or the ones we call tombstones
so I guess the only decisions left for you to choose
is whether the fabric in y our casket
should be red, or blue
and I ask "what…are you dying for?"
SECOND CHANCES
Shovel full by shovel full, dirt jumped back off the shovel and piled high by the tombstone that marked my new home, and my soul…watched people stand at my grave’s hole, and I found it odd when the preacher said…”soul his rest god.” People walked backwards, back towards their cars, and jumped in back first as that black hearse reversed and backed away…until it reached the church on that sad, solemn, Saturday. As raindrops jumped from the ground to the clouds, and the preacher said aloud “pray us let” and I could not forget the haste with which tears fled single back up my mother’s face, and my sister’s look of hurt as she walked my mother backwards out the church, and I was back in that funeral home. Some unknown man had a tube in my hand and I heard him say its “fluid embalming” and as it exited, my blood came back in. Suddenly, I was once again this hospital bed and my heartbeat said “boooooooooop, baboop, baboop, baboop” and I was alive again and the nurse backed in and said “?today you are how” Every four hours I vomited up the six pills she made me devour in hopes that they killed what’s causing me this pain. My room was filled with flowers and day by day they became less as tests were conducted only after results were told to me. Five days prior to my demise, my arrival was marked by ambulatory sirens and I was back in that ambulance as it swiftly sped steadfastly back to the apartment in which I dwelt and I saw scenes of hell as I was carried on that gurney back through the door and placed back on the floor as paramedics rushed backwards out the door and moments before they responded quick, I regained consciousness and then I was sick.
Suddenly I was healthy and “well he’s” is how my mother told the person on the phone I was doing, and with a “hello” the conversation had begun and then she hung up the phone and then the phone rang. He took me back to the time 379 days ago when the phone rang and I answered it real slow. Prior to that slow “hello” I took a breath, then suddenly it was two weeks ago and I just took a blood test. The needle came backwards out my arm and I rolled my sleeve back down. I walked backwards around the exam chair and sat back in the waiting room with a carefree stare of reflection about how I could not possibly have an affection…infection. I walked backwards out the doctor’s office and sat back in the softness of my Maxima seats, and I drove the streets backwards through time to six months ago, and I ended up back on the doorstep of some girl I really didn’t know. I walked back through the door and my clothes and her clothes both hit the floor and I told her “before this like sex had never I.” Our passionate action had us kissing and I was reminiscing back to the look in her eyes when she smiled and I thought “cool…” then I remembered she said “that need don’t you.” It was a quarter past two and I saw my soul looking back at me and I knew I was acting foolishly. You don’t get second chances at bad romancing and I begged my soul to let me go back to that moment in time when I was a living breathing man, when that unused condom jumped out the trash can and landed back…in my hand.
Suddenly I was healthy and “well he’s” is how my mother told the person on the phone I was doing, and with a “hello” the conversation had begun and then she hung up the phone and then the phone rang. He took me back to the time 379 days ago when the phone rang and I answered it real slow. Prior to that slow “hello” I took a breath, then suddenly it was two weeks ago and I just took a blood test. The needle came backwards out my arm and I rolled my sleeve back down. I walked backwards around the exam chair and sat back in the waiting room with a carefree stare of reflection about how I could not possibly have an affection…infection. I walked backwards out the doctor’s office and sat back in the softness of my Maxima seats, and I drove the streets backwards through time to six months ago, and I ended up back on the doorstep of some girl I really didn’t know. I walked back through the door and my clothes and her clothes both hit the floor and I told her “before this like sex had never I.” Our passionate action had us kissing and I was reminiscing back to the look in her eyes when she smiled and I thought “cool…” then I remembered she said “that need don’t you.” It was a quarter past two and I saw my soul looking back at me and I knew I was acting foolishly. You don’t get second chances at bad romancing and I begged my soul to let me go back to that moment in time when I was a living breathing man, when that unused condom jumped out the trash can and landed back…in my hand.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
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