30 degree thoughts

I took the elevator to the 9th floor of my apartment building where I could sit and breathe silently out on the deck. My thoughts spun in and out of song lyrics, my current state, and old dreams and I felt, burdened. It was cold and I shivered and my eyes hurt as my tears fell. Everything hurt.

I wanted to see how far down I would fall from there. If it would be quick, if there would be blood, would I feel it? Would someone see, would someone call, how long would I be left alone? Longer than I already have been?

It was a long way down.

I belong to me [5-25-16]

Willow whispers in a dream, Drifting away like autumn leaves, Will you be mine, he asks gently? No she said, I belong to me.

“I am a body of many homes. Skin like almonds, rests in the sun of west Africa. Melanin rich like the diamonds of Côte d'Ivoire. Where my flat feet run barefoot across the white sand of the Caribbean. My arms wrap around these continents of my ancestors. My spirit travels freely across the seas. Home is where you are, And I, am f everywhere.”

The space between us Can not be just air If the tips of my fingers Push through Watery and thick Like melted glass And I feel your fingerprints. If I hold onto your being If I reach out for you And in to your soul If I sense every part of you Memorized your breath Synced our heartbeats… My hands are safe In this invisible space With you and without you But you are never there.

Will You Still Be Here [10/7/15]

And when the rest of your waves Ripple out After that bomb Was dropped Will you still be here Holding my hand Or will we drift apart?

Six Word Story

I feel like a Tragic Comedy.

Fourteen Pieces

Where do broken hearts go? Are their remnants floating aimlessly in cloudless skies, Or are they crumpled on the ground like plastic caps and old receipts? Do we keep them in worn pockets fiddled by fingers too afraid to mend but, Needing to know they are there? When hearts break- In one, two, or fourteen pieces- I always wonder where they go.

July 14, 2015: "July"

You feel that hot air surrounding you Like the auntie you know gonna kiss your cheek even when you try to dodge it Or the man's breath next to you on the bus. That hot air is just there whether you like it or not. You feel it over stepping your boundaries Moving in on you and you can't back away or even turn to run. That hot air runs right with you And when you stop to catch your breath, Panting hard, fanning yourself, dabbing that salty sweat off your forehead That hot air reaches in and embraces your entire being And it's only that gut wrenching feeling That hot sticky sweaty mess That tells you- you're alive.

July 1 2015:

Flattened like sheets of metal Pounded to a thinness that could be What's left of the lifeline I gave to you. When you didn't choose me I thought I could die right there- Shrivel up and blow away Like crisp brown leaves In the barren winter wind. But the incessant shock has actually ceased. The unnerving thoughts are no longer Waiting to come out of the proverbial closet. No more haunting feelings. I, am over you. And unsure of how I was ever under you, Which has ironically left me flattened, I am now someone new. Flattened maybe, but I am free.

Roses Weep Without The Sun

Reposing roses with spinous stems floated around listlessly. A girl lay still among them in a warm pool of blood, Deep and red like the wilted petals. Taking after the once beautiful flower, She too wilted away. Floating in the blood bath her wrists open And poured out memories she dared not live with any longer. Like splices on a reel, Remnants of her past came to life On the white tile wall. Her eyes, red and narrow, Saw her body slumped in a corner, Too weak to block blows of anger, Too tired to question why any longer. She saw her privacy, now nonexistent, violated, Her innocent youth stolen By prodding hands, And a prepubescent eagerness. Her body ached with chagrin As the next scene showed pieces of her heart Poured down a drain like flat soda, Because nobody wants that at all. She remembered acting; Her double life leading everyone to believe nothing was ever wrong. How wrong she was. Relentless memories continued surfacing. She saw herself trying to forget How wanting love so badly Caused her to feel even more alone than ever before, Even after her stomach became flat again. She saw her mother, The woman she wanted to remember and forget, Her love shown too late, The pain lasting forever. Every damaging episode of her short melodramatic life flashed before her eyes. She sunk lower in the bath, Wanting it all to stop, The memories to disappear, Her life to end. But the blood baths' cognizant hologram served its purpose well: She can remember the past but she can't live it. Presently, she recovered from the almost suicidal comatose. All the hurt, the pain, the psychosis, can be left in the past. And she remembered one pivotal token: She hates the sight of blood.


Grief. (6-15-15)

Grief isn't one single moment that begins and then passes. Grief is continuous and as fluid as an oceans waves. It comes and goes without calculation, crashing down without warning, leaving you empty wondering when the next wave will hit. I find myself still having "aftershocks." The waves are random: a certain song, the positioning of the moon, an overcast day, anything could trigger my eyes to widen with sorrow and fill with tears. Ever since that day, colors and sounds have become dull and waking up without the sun is absolutely miserable. It's been two years since the passing of my mother but my grief is still the same as the day my grandfather said "She's gone Ayo," with tears in his eyes. I miss her.

Six Word Story - 6/4/15

Wanting love but, incapable of loving.

April - Poem A Day: Day 30

The people will rise Up and out of your shackles Freedom is coming.

April - Poem A Day: Day 29

History repeats Over time it seems normal But now we fight back.

April - Poem A Day: Day 28

From her big brown eyes Never faltering in fear Weeps a sea of tears

April - Poem A Day: Day 27

Revolutionary: Fighting for equal rights and, Never giving up

April - Poem A Day: Day 26

Fed up with the lies We are confusing real life Believe nothing heard.