His

He makes me wanna dance on my tippy toes
A pirouette or something silly ballet dancers do
I wanna be his nut cracker I wanna smell his shoes
I wanna be his everything I wanna be faithful

I caught a falling star I found my pot of gold
He is everything I wished and hoped for
The four leaf clover for my soul

I’m on a mountain as high as the clouds
I’ve kissed an angel I can’t find my way down
I’ve forgotten every pain I’ve ever felt
Every lover that ever left

I wanna be his water the rain that cleanse his soul
I wanna be the whisper in his ear
I wanna be his wings as we soar through the air

I wanna be the beauty that beams from his face
I wanna sleep beside him until our very last breath
I wanna be in his arms forever.

Writer's Block

standing in the need of prayer

on tracks i travel towards a testimony i’ve yet to deliver

souls lie in limbo like trash scattered throughout philadelphia streets

mama said goodbye with a tear in her eye but she knew it was what she had to do

her baby boy wouldn’t listen, his will no longer wore the diaper she dutifully

placed around his heart praying every night that demons kept their distance

“keep and protect him lord” she prayed only to let go without knowing the 

consequence or conclusion to his destiny, “i put it all in your hands” her faith 

unquestioned

i no longer regret the lines of coke i did or the alcohol i consumed for it

provided tales of healing and grace and how out of any darkness the sun

will always rise like the spirit of the phoenix i rise with the certainty of tides

crashing along sandy Carolina shores and beaches where coloreds use to dance

paying homage to the seas, ancestral spirits still swimming in salty waters

searching for home free from the evil bondage that enslaved for profit

and greed i grieve for them i am burdened with the task of liberating their offspring

spring came with my resurrection after a night of drinking poison causing me to 

slumber for seven days while death grinned foolishly in the corner hoping i would say no 

hoping i would travel towards the train traveling towards me on tracks of destruction 

i had grown used to walking taking strolls down sad atlanta streets and 

wilmington boulevards looking beggars in the face and feeling the sadness of souls

lost without a home or voice or chance to state their claim in their own life, a life

where the rules are constantly changing like that of a kaleidoscope toy but this isn't a

game things have changed i’ve forgiven the one who molested me and those who 

trespassed me like a passerby bumping into you no exchange needed victims of circumstance 

i am still functioning and able with small traces of post traumatic stress that i acknowledge to liberate myself like seeking love in the arms of strangers who know nothing but how to abuse and break promises no longer am i humpdy dumpdy humping around risking myself for the 

sake of something meaningful, i must testify and share

i’m meaningful and im complete.

amtrak-061914

the inner mystery

it’s coming
hold on
i’ve come too far
like butterflies bursting from cocoons
sweet buttery pound cake from hot oven
i think i’m ready

cliff covered mountains or
valium filled valleys
it don’t matter
not when you have wings and
believe you can fly
angels and demons

evil doers and non well wishers
appear like
thorns beneath the prettiest rose whose
fragrance lure like
sirens off distant shores
garden sheers

i no longer fear fear
mislead into a strange bed
driving past dead ends
no u turns or new friends
rain is inevitable when in doubt
umbrellas

this fella’s destiny he does not know
but unconquerable belief is
destined to bring him close
to what most spend a life time in search of
what is this thing called love

grace

a closet is not a home

they paid me a visit again last night
tears and loneliness
is there something i’m doing wrong
i don’t recall leaving the light on

relationships
affairs of the heart; my heart
i’m beginning to no longer trust
emotions and feelings

trust nothing with a pulse
trust no one with a speaking
tongue or ears that won’t
listen and a heart incapable of love

bitter becomes the man searching for
black love in a white town where the few who
favor you knocks you down with ad titles that
read blk lookin 4 wht or white only please

lonely is the only roasted bean in the
starbucks on oleander street
with no place to go where dark
smiles know your truthful solitude

unrestrained by synthetic mental
closets that hide nothing more than an
illusion of shame and scented mothballs and
jeans that no longer fit

the maternal bond and youngest son’s
duty to his aging mother will soon be
not enough to keep me here in a
house that will never become a home