siutations such as this ii

i told myself not to hit send
that the message was out of context
i was upset with running high emotions
i should step back and take a breath

i told myself not to hit send
wounded child-like tantrum
kicking and screaming to be heard
just listen to me

i told myself not to hit send
i would regret coming off looking
weak and needy with little
self control or maturity

i pressed send
for a moment after
time and my heart stood still
no rewind anywhere to be found

like a jester before the king
i clowned myself once again
images of a babbling brook
remind me of the bigger picture

no response i power down
not only my phone but myself
technical distractions cause
unnecessary reactions

nothing can replace
face to face
communication in
situations such as this

-to paul

to kill a mockingbird

they’ve all asked and

i’ve sworn to secrecy on 

the sex of mockingbirds

who never fly south

too good to move on or 

too lazy to put forth the effort

a life of coke and leisure

i pleasure their company with mine

allowing myself to be chopped

broken down and then snorted

dirty hundreds or crisp twenties

corners of torn match books from QT

brown liquor numbs this 

brown boy’s blues

clinking of ice cubes in 

crystal tumblers 

snapping pictures posting on 

instagram and tumblr

ill never speak on the affairs or 

encounters or the events that 

circumstance and southern lust

privies me for

to kill a mockingbird is

cowardly where i’m from

me and the beast within

my feelings have become
uncontrollable at times
like learning to live with a lion
never knowing when it will happen
the lashing
the biting of hands

those who feed me
love me and
need me and
want me
not knowing me
the carnal side

submerged in
shallow dark waters
lurking beneath
striking out if
rejected neglected
not selected

there’s more to me than
meets the eye
i try to keep myself at bay
singing lullabies
like the mother of a colic child
someday my prince will come

i haven’t come to terms with the
beast within me
him hates being alone
i detest his consuming company
covering mirrors
closing blinds

why bother

he tossed me the Bible and
told me to read
my life was not being lived like
God intended
zooming away in something shiny and new

new testament
new life
new joy
old lies
old school
old beliefs that do nothing but
foreshadow an end to a wicked world

why bother
why bother
i try not to bother momma while she sleeps
but it’s time for her to wake up.
the Jesus she searching for is not
held hostage in some church that has profited
off her lack of

lack of
lack of
her lights run the threat of disconnection
but Pastor say it’s for her protection
no one wants to burn in hell
keep up with your tithes and offering
while your baby boy is baptizing himself

in dirty protein rivers flowing from
strange men who spew wicked seaman
convincing him they will supply the love he
never received from his broken home
our father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name

in thy name all things are possible
i never finished reading the bible
as an english scholar plagiarism was frowned upon
he left the only salvation he was capable of providing
“amen” i mumbled while tossing
the box of trojans and
bible in the trash

situation such as this

nothing will come of this

my mind toys with the

optimism of a mustard seed

seeing only the possibility

of positivity

but my heart knows for

certain that chivalry is dead

lifeless like Jesus on the

cross in an old rural

baptist church

dusty purple pews

who knew you would be

here laying beside me

not out of want but of need

i need more

like goldfish in an

abandoned tank

more algae than water

i wanna breathe and

believe that

something will come of this

but chivalry is dead

it wasn’t love we just made

just a protein mess at best

our eyes never met

regret after regret

but at this moment we

both need each other

too lazy to live the truth

taunting thoughts tossed in

tissues  and flushed down toilets

unlimited kush

makes even the worse

situation bearable

a situation such as this

Friday After Next...Ms. Pearly Audition Tape

Still Dreaming

I’ve spent spent summer nights
Playing in the snow
Forgetting the importance of time
Forgetting rhyme and reason
Beaming with euphoria
Chapped white lips
Damn I’m sexy

Walking down dirty
Dimly lit peach tree streets
Looking for someone
Just as lonely and alive
As me
Floating above misery
Where have all the birds gone?

Rats are bold at 6am
Never minding passing humans
Passing fire hydrants
Forgetting the importance of
Hydration and rest
No rest for the geeked and weary

This old heart and red eyes of mine
Have seen and felt enough pain
No matter how worn my shoes become
I can’t walk it out
Work it out
Self medicating until my nose collapse

Perhaps this pain
My pain
I’m meant to feel
Perhaps this life
My life
I’m meant to live

Record keeper and saboteur of
Wounds
Post traumatic stress
Popping purple pills
Pursuing a purpose driven life
Even if my dreams at times become living nightmares
Damnit
At least I’m dreaming

someone to watch over me (090613)

where are the boys who enjoy
bestbuy and bilal
and possess a non obsessive
sense of style
where they at?

where are the dudes
who eat fruit but don’t necessarily act
like one..well maybe only when beyonce comes on
but everyone gets a pass on that one
where you at?

where are the men willing to grind
obtain sustain and maintain
unafraid to use their brain for
the betterment of all mankind?
this guy i must find!

sexy is he who’s unafraid to
smile at passing strangers or
pet playing puppies in public parks
while contemplating the origins of time
damn I hope he’s fine!

leprechauns mermaids and unicorns
inspire the fancy of artist
just as the possibility of love
ignites the heart's fire

desires don’t disappear like
hop scotch grids on side walks after it’s rained
nor has my heart lost the desire to
find love once again

possible (090613)

the impossible is no longer part of my tongue's pronunciation
proclamation is non stoic
settling for bullshyt unworthy of my time
tired have i become of non triumphant fanfare

false trumpets do kings any good
greatness is my purpose
pursuing meaning in dark ghost filled kingdoms
killing my vision visiting those unwilling to see

selfishness within them selves
serving speedy satisfaction
suffer the little children who grew up believing
santa claus had forgotten them

tough does the heart become
bitter does the heart become
broken hearts can be undone
unlike stubborn grown men and christians

criticizing constantly the actions of others
only to realize that this life was meant to be lived
lovingly and with the liberty of free choice
choose ye this day whom ye will serve

surely the strong will choose
compassion and the unimaginable
unexplainable unlimited life giver
great light bearer; creator of all things

thankful am i for insight and understanding
unplugging myself and life from the impossible
idiocentric norms that limit self from seeing
superbly how wonderful this life really is

081713

Poets are sexy. 
Poets are neat. 
Poets love life. 
Poets love deep. 
Poets see life through rose colored frames. 
I am a poet. 
I ain't ashamed.

love rain

oh my God
oh my God
i’ve got so much work to do
work work
like an ant seeking something sweet
like the drone collecting honey for the queen
i mindlessly get to work
seeking to quench
my glutenous soul
one less bell to answer
where is the love you said you’d give to me
abandoned on a backstreet
in the back seat
of a dirty foul smelling
89 honda accord with pop up lights

far too many feeling the strain
oh when will there be a harvest for the world?
a harvest of love
feed us love
like water to a barren land
we are dehydrated
im dehydrated
so let the rain come down
let the rain come down
let the rain come down down

and They wonder why

"In a South Carolina prison on June 16, 1944, guards walked a 14-year-old Black boy, bible tucked under his arm, to the electric chair. He used the bible as a booster seat. At 5' 1" and 95 pounds, the straps didn’t fit, and an electrode was too big for his leg. The switch was pulled, and the adult sized death mask fell from his face. Tears streamed from his wide-open, tearful eyes, and saliva dripped from his mouth. Witnesses recoiled in horror as they watched the execution of the youngest person in the United States in the past century.

George Stinney was accused of killing two White girls, 11-year-old Betty June Binnicker and 8-year-old Mary Emma Thames. Because there were no Miranda rights in 1944, Stinney was questioned without a lawyer and his parents were not allowed into the room. The sheriff at the time said that Stinney admitted to the killings, but there is only his word — no written record of the confession has been found. Reports even said that the officers offered Stinney ice cream for confessing to the crimes.

Stinney’s father, who had helped look for the girls, was fired immediately, and ordered to leave his home and the sawmill where he worked. His family was told to leave town prior to the trial to avoid further retribution. An atmosphere of lynch mob hysteria hung over the courthouse. Without family visits, the 14 year old had to endure the trial and death alone.

The court appointed Stinney an attorney — a tax commissioner preparing for a Statehouse run. There was no court challenge to the testimony of the three police officers who claimed that Stinney had confessed, although that was the only evidence the prosecution presented. There were no written records of a confession. Three witnesses were called for the prosecution: the man who discovered the bodies of the two girls and the two doctors who performed the post mortem. No witnesses were called for the defense. The trial took place before a completely White jury and audience (Blacks were not allowed entrance), and lasted two and a half hours. The jury took ten minutes to deliberate before it returned with a guilty verdict."

A few years ago, a family claimed that their deceased family member confessed to the murders of the two girls on his deathbed. The rumored culprit came from a well-known, prominent White family. Members of the man’s family served on the initial coroner’s inquest jury, which had recommended that Stinney be prosecuted.

The legal murder of George Stinney will forever haunt the American legacy. Although the world and this nation have undoubtedly changed for the better, race still often collides with justice and results in tragedy. Cases like George Stinney's cannot be erased, should never be forgotten, and are an important chapter in the story of Blacks in America.

i can't run

how many missed calls
before i realize i can’t hide forever
no matter how many times i blink my eyes
i can’t seem to blink myself away

another day
same problems lay
on the floor like a thousand dead roaches
after bombs been sprayed

i can’t run
i ain’t forest gump
i can’t run
like the tears on the face
of the mother of a dead son

i can’t run
this ain’t no homerun
i can’t run
like them notes being sung by whitney

i can’t run
from my
problems when my only problem
seems to be me

pain of the loveless

i wander the house alone late nights
seeking constructive things to do while being destructive
no sleep for the weary or the loveless ones

maybe that’s what i’m really in search of
dark midnight love
white porcelain lines on desktops or macbooks

im an open book hoping to be found
like babies fighting sleep, afraid they’ll miss something
my eyes are red from fighting life

from fighting me
i’ve lost interest in food and friends
my heart is throwing a temper tantrum

nothing seems to soothe it
random nuts from random strangers
fruit and ben and jerry’s ice cream

offer temporary pacification
maybe mama should have spared the pacifier
and allowed me to cry

to scream
to kick
to feel

maybe this is why my heart has yet to heal
late nights seeking another soul able to feel
the pain of the loveless ones