White Rum

You running around in my head makes me sleepy,

so I go to bed where you run around in my dreams,

then in my brain,

then out my ears onto my pillow,

right down my arm to my fingertips...

I dial your number and there you are

not thinking about me.

My Hands

Rougher than I'd like to admit - 

mishandling the important things with

my clumsy dexterity.

They often ache with want,

reaching for what they can't have,

trying to wring the nervous out when they

come up empty.

I blame them for my habit of hurting myself on others.

My hands -

greedy for validation that

they belong to someone worthy enough 

or lucky enough

or smart enough

to make sound decisions.

And when they look up and see they belong to me,

they're so ashamed that they cover my face,

like I don't know their motive.

All I can do is apologize (over and over)

for fucking up (over and over)

for bad judgement (over and over)

and promise them I won't do it anymore...

Then pray I won't.

And they forgive me time and again,

letting me off the hook

for illogical romanticism

or uneven reciprocity 

and my tendency toward victim hood

when I get what I knew I would

from #loveagainsorta - 

not enough.

They forgive me,

but vow not to wipe my tears if I break my own heart again.

Lucky for me...

all three of us are promise-breakers.

Girl Hands

I used to pray for girl hands -

soft ones that would look good with red polish,

and a big diamond ring.

Or in a picture on top of a man's hand,

on top of a "just-married" white pillow.

Soft hands that weren't chapped since birth,

dainty ones that a boy would want to hold

instead of punch.

Where the lines on the palm would connect

and give me a good future

full of normal things that normal girls want.

I prayed but never got them.

Then one day they came - 

Walked right up to me and grabbed my breasts,

pulled at my heart just beneath the surface,

nicknamed me and held me at night.

Played with my hair.

Played with my feelings.

Left me missing them.

Left me exposed.

I'm careful what I ask for now.

The End

Moving.

Mooooving...

Moooving...forward

Foooor-ward

Fooor-ward

For-ward

Four words...

All love; no regrets.

[period.]

12:01 am (for me) (Haiku)

I did all I could

yesterday...some things I

thought I couldn't too.

Tyler Durden

Can't find the words...help me...

(As long as you look okay, you're ok. Smile. No one questions a smile.)

Wish I knew what to say...

(Just don't cry. Tears will be the only thing remembered.)

But...

(Don't argue with common sense. Strength wins every time.)

Okay. I'll say what you told me.

(Good girl!)

"Goodbye!"

(Good girl...)

Robert Glasper

He said, "You're so beautiful right now,
in the music,
here with me."

"Maybe you're here with me.
Maybe I'm the music.
Maybe I'm in you," I said.

I was the woman I wanted to be -
boldy seductive,
a moment,
an experience.

"Say my name..."

"You first."

She Asked

"What's it like?"

Big eyes wide open and curious.

I searched for a simile, but a metaphor would do.

I smiled to myself.

"It's waking up and learning to walk again 

with feet a size smaller or larger 

than when you went to sleep.

You'll embarrass yourself at first because

you're not used to them.

Then you realize,

you've had feet your whole life.

Do what comes naturally...

WALK!"

- For ARH

If You Can (Haiku)

Tomorrow ain't lost,

no matter if it feels so...

outrun your fear and find it!

Love Me (for liltunechi) (Haiku)

Maybe they all thought

they'd have the baby that would 

promote his "bigness..."

Go! (Haiku)

Toyota's Slogan -

"Let's go places!" I own one...

Why am I waiting?

...with Benefits

I understand the pillows in the bed,

there for comfort

from bad choices.

The staying too long or leaving too soon

that felt right because you were wronged.

...I walked away often, too,

hoping all I gave would (somehow) amount

to all the love they didn't give,

and (somehow) they would give little more than a shit

about the "good" one.

Yeah.

We breathed the same bullshit

at different times, from different asses.

Felt we were special because the world isn't,

and the world ain't us.

Both suckers for love-like feelings,

victims of love-less times,

then the illusion.

You had a friend in me.

And then a place to hide the hurt.

And then a place to hide your face.

Humpty Dumpty

That thing loved bread

       and sauce,

made my top half thick  immediately,

       made me dizzy and sleepy,

made me sick...

That thing loved to make me sick.

I felt nothing for it,

       pain from it,

judged because I made a quick decision once I found out.

I don't look back unless someone else reminisces.

Then I remember it and me,

       then it...then me...separated...

Then I remember me!

It wasn't a mistake nor a sin to choose life - 

mine...

Harmonica Haiku (for my friend)

"You're in my heart," she 

said with pretty, empty eyes.

"What Heart?" I replied.

                                             

That Love Shit...

He's like that shit I wrote
when I believed in shit like that.
That love shit...

That can't sleep shit
cuz I'm thinkin bout him shit,
even though he ain't thinkin
bout me shit.

That love shit...
Or...that "you think it's love" shit...
but it's really
some other shit we call love because it
sounds better than "I don't know."

Well...I know...
I don't believe in that shit no more
I sleep. I eat. I live.

Throw him in my backpack for safekeeping.

Love is a bad tenent here now -
she breaks things,
don't pay rent on time,
disturbs my peace of mind.

I'd evict her but there are no vacancies anywhere
and the God in me won't send her to a manger
to birth her bastardized effects into the world...

Like him,
the one who came too late to the orgy,
who believes I was made for him
and he was made to heal me,
and our particular symbiosis
makes sense in this parasitic world.

[I'm rolling my eyes.]

THAT  love shit...

Abstract

Lying on my back I saw you floating,
just above my head.

Wondered what you were doing up there
as I searched up for my peace of mind...

(I wish I wasn't so terrible at choosing bedfellows.)

Looking up instead of looking forward,

always doing that

always daydream-perfect

always reality-wrong 

always never enough

The Way We Left It...

Gratitude should be as real as God
and sincere as sin,
revisited as often as each morning's first conscious breath,
when our brains are trying to reorganize life

and put the world back the way we left it before we slept.

Recalled at the most irrelevant times,
especially when we really mean it,
and realize all gratitude

is pulled from the same pot,
sincere or not,
and in its place goes the sentiment.

Poison or prescription becomes the question...
Did it injure or heal,
and who will have to drink it down after you?

And being that this world is incredibly small,
our times to sip from the pot will come often.

Russian roulette with karma
hoping for a CLICK or a blank or a gun jam

You always get the bullet though,
That's what they mean when they say you reap what you sow.
Was the "thank you" to appreciate or obligate?

Did you take because you need or because you could?
And did the supplication you assumed was from above really amount to any good?

Most people miss that part,
That even to receive you must have a clean heart.
And we wonder why the world only makes sense when we're indebted and owe,
We leave it that way - we take our gifts to go!

Daily Devotional

When Jesus calls me,
He'll use His cell
to call my house phone
(Yeah, I still have one...)
and the number will look vaguely familiar,
(like it belongs to someone who almost loved me, but stopped calling before he knew for sure)
and my mind will race to recall the disappointment,
so I won't be thinking straight, and I'll answer the phone like,
"hell-uh"
and He'll be like,
"Yes, ma'am. Just calling to see whether you have a church home..."
and because the red type in the Bible doesn't include audio,

I won't recognize his voice,

and I'll laugh

and hang up.

I'll be running late for something,
rush out my house, and he'll be sitting on the steps of my building

beneath the "NO LOITERING" sign,
With a hoodie on,
back to me,
head hanging low like a corner dope head.

And I'll give him a disarming, "Good Morning,"
as I always do when people rest on my steps,
and He'll look up and be gorgeous,
kinda like every race in the world -
the most attractive characteristics of each
in a configuration only God could make.

His eyes of fire will stare for a minute before he says,
"You have a blessed day,"
and I'll say,

"You make good choices too!"
and He'll overexaggerate a laugh before asking for my number.

I'll ignore the request.

Then somehow He'll cut me off on 295 with his sportscar
(that must be overcompensating for something else),
and I'll sit on my horn and call him an "m-fer" with every adjective I know in front of it,
throw my middle finger at Him with the ease of a deuce chuck,
and He'll wave back in His rearview like Miss America.

When Jesus calls me,

He'll yell up my block in the hood,

give ethnic handshakes and call everybody "Son"

(ironically).

He'll be the man who holds the door open for me at the bank,

the man who undresses me with his eyes

before he notices me noticing and corrects himself.

He'll get my attention and hold it,

pay me a compliment and mean it.

I'll hear Him,

while everyone else sounds like noise.

My response will be music to His ears,

and He'll give the same enduring faith he expects...

When Jesus calls...he'll dial direct.

11

...months since I've seen you

took confident selfies 

felt truly sexy

11

...months since I've thought about a future with someone

thought God heard me

felt butterflies thinking about a conversation

11

...months since sex

(enough said)

11 

...hours since you texted me to say,

"It really was good seeing you again!"

11

...minutes since I finally texted you back,

"You too..."

(Direct quote)

11

...seconds since I thought about texting you what I really felt,

but 11 seconds after I did that, it wouldn't matter at all,

I'd agonize about my decision the following 11 minutes,

check my phone every hour for the next 11 hours to see if you'd respond,

spend 11 days in a funk because you didn't respond and I felt stupid,

and I promised myself I wouldn't spend another 11 months in a text standoff with you,

So...

I'll spend the next 11 minutes finishing this poem,

the next 11 days forgetting the way you looked 11 days ago

(when I last saw you)

so the next 11 months I can live without wonder.

God's Body

Heard somewhere that God has no hands but our hands,
help from heaven through work on earth,
The creator moving through the created for purpose

in the visible world.

 

Dope idea that the one who started this whole thing

still gives enough damns to put people in place

to keep order.

Hands of the divine no more than a step away

from our domiciles.

 

...so go ahead and give me the key...
who's to say that God ain't working through me,

that everything you need ain't in these hands

God made want you,

and with them, help elevate your body

the way ones before failed to do

because they weren't God-sent
or God-meant or God-found or God-logic,
looked to them when your skin was hungry
palms were sweaty, and
you felt full of temptation,
then full of them,
then full of sin

running over the rim
'til you begged for repentance from the same
demons that made you feel unworthy in the first place.

Your body isn't an opportunity for release,
it's relief from the mortal world,
elixir in a coke bottle,
ready to be popped...
and I'm no tree in the middle of the garden.

You weren't warned to stay away from me,
no still, small voice proclaiming my poison,
not life everlasting, but I am life,
the transference and continuation of energy,
charged and ready to receive you while you walk in the valley
sampling fruit for sustenance...

You should try me.

Find the angel within
that grew from the mess you made
trying to avoid sin.
put faith in the force
that brought us together.
God don't make mistakes,
and God made me,
and God made you,
so God made "we."

Walk away from the shadow of the garden with me,
that's not us anymore,
we are limbs from the same body...

we prove He works in mysterious ways.

 

The Soundtrack

We met to be a memory

we won't share over photo albums and international coffee...

meant to be a maybe, 

a long shot,

bad timing...

I was supposed to be collateral damage in your battle with you,

And you, slain by friendly fire in mine.

Perps and victims - 

a perfect pair.

We were supposed to undo each other's shoes 

and ask the other to stay awhile

...then put on our own shoes to run across each other's minds without rest...

We were meant to be a mess!

Complicated, not complex,

too simple to be sane.

Drunk off the thought of the start,

dangerously in extreme like,

infatuated with the fight of our wills against our fears,

holding hands to face the same monsters we met when we held hands.

Needing things the other just happens to have,

we see and intentionally don't ask.

Cause the two of us are only good for one thing,

giving each other a new song to sing,

everyday,

three minutes and thirty-eight seconds on replay.

The newest song from the newest artist on repeat

so we could get sick of the tempo and end up on delete,

Pack our beats and lyrics and walk out the door

saying to ourselves, "They don't make good music like that anymore!"

...(pronounced, "Complicated...")

She'll be sitting somewhere with him,
and she'll say,

 

"Honey, I remember
I was seeing this girl...
well...she was a woman, really...
Anyway, she was so extra!
We went out one time..."

 

Her voice will trail off somewhere,
and she'll feel the relief in the release.

 

He'll feel lucky to have found her after her experimental phase,
when drugs and drink and women were staples of her youth,
and she lived without a care for anything but her needs and memories like these she could bring up just for fun.

 

There's always life after the "living-to-the-fullest" life.

 

I hope to be the human jukebox with the oldies on repeat...

and not the over sung tune, for nostalgia's sake.

; (pronounced "Stop...for now. .."

He told me,

"You're getting too old not to have fun. Why not treat this like it's temporary...that is allowed, you know."

He's been there for every lover, so far. Not really fond of any of them, though.

He was right;  I'm too serious.

"Fun me up, then. I obviously need help with life. "

My smile wasn't real.

"Alright, " he continued, " just...fuck.  Don't...feel."

I stared off into space somewhere, laughed to myself. 

"Why didn't I think of that..."

Sarcasm on 1000.

The Big Girl Pill

You lie when you say you aren't looking for it...

Truth is it ain't looking for you,

so you pretend you let it go ages ago

because it didn't suit you.

Didn't white-dress you either,

didn't give a damn about your dreams,

called you dramatic,

felt judged by you,

tickled and teased you, 

never called back,

changed the number,

avoided your gaze...

deemed you unworthy and selfish.

...and you are selfish to want that pretty thing to yourself,

even for an hour...

it ain't meant for your kind,

meant for those with so much going on they don't notice 

when it temporarily loses interest, and slips away despite 

a best attempt to understand it.

it's meant for the strong and lusty,

the young and restless,

free-spirited beauties who don't think twice about you,

the unnoticed.

Join the throng or give up,

because to act surprised that it did what it said it would do

is beneath you.

Seven Again

Don't worry, Darlin'

I'm all outta soul; 

no need for a mate.

Just bring your best every night,

and I'll pretend I'm human every morning,

die to your naughty texts every afternoon,

and be resurrected by your voice, 

just in time to play cat-and-mouse before nightfall.

We will never get it right, unless this is it...

Otherwise we're wrong together, which isn't wrong at all.

Because who doesn't want to be us --

no sentiment,

no manners,

no bullshit,

cuz we know better now...

cuz before us, there was them,

and after us they'll be them again,

so let's seven over and over again

until eight appears to break what we repaired in each other.

FJ is only a "like" away...

Dear Facebook Jesus,

Thanks for taking time out of your busy scocial networking schedule to read this blog. No one will understand this particular conversation but you, so I thought I'd skip the all-too-familiar, attention-sucking habit of putting prayers in Facebook statuses, and dial direct...in this blog.

Truth is FJ (I hope you don't mind the nickname, but I've always felt you were my homie), I am overly irritated by people who sing your praises on social media. Prayer and praise is not social if people aren't praying and praising with you. It's personal, especially if one starts a post with "Dear God..." Or "Dear Father..." and ends with "Amen." It's all a plea for company, and if not, why would anyone put that out for the world to read unless that person wanted someone to stand in agreement with the prayer or praise? Unfortunately, there is no "stand-in-agreement" button on Facebook; the inappropriate "like" button is as good as it gets. And to "like" a prayer doesn't mean anyone agrees with the sentiment. Most people who feel inclined to say something don't want to be in the douchebag number for not giving a thumbs up to a prayer that could have been heard by God without a keyboard. You'll be happy to know I know I'm a bit douchebaggie. I keep scrolling. I think it's the honest thing to do. Like I said before...I want to be social on social networks. I don't want to be in everyone's prayer circles, especially when I don't really know what the intent of the prayer is...or who the person is really praying to.

Oh well...just a thought...you already knew before I typed it...take care.