Thursday, 17 December 2015

Blackmail From A Black Male

Black boy sweet like honey crisp shuga.
His mama never held his hand long enough, cause she knew he gon' grow spoiled and if he did he sure as hell wasn't going to spoil you.
You tried to love black boy at your collar bone's length because you knew Love had a hard time recycling from past lovers who left their sharp tongues on your ribcage.

1. On mornings that you laid next to eachother before he washed his face, you embraced him with both your hands and kissed him, hard.

2. You began longing to touch the Sun on his cheek bones because you still felt him on your fingertips after he was long gone.

3. On days when all he did was look at you with lust, you'd firmly place your head on his shoulder and tell him that he is your sexual utopia and you'd make him affirm that you only felt safe in his mouth.

4. He has always desired to scoop crushed mango kush gently placed on your belly with a Raw Hornet Rizla scone.
As you would stare deep into his eyes and press your breasts together for him to drop his ashes in between.

5. You would look at him,
as he became white boy high, you'd move closer as you turn to the left side of his face, lick his ear lobe and utter "boy, you ain't shit"

6. You'd watch your words fall onto his lap like the glass of Rosé he wished he was drowning in.

7. You noticed how his sins began to exceed their limits.

8. Did your father ever teach you how to wear a man's skin?

9.  You knew the day he will get to know the value of a woman, would be the day he'd become a man.

10. On mornings you continued to lay next to him, before he washed his face, you embraced him with your hand and kissed him, hard, enough for your breath to stop his.

Tuesday, 1 December 2015

I Swear to. . God?

We have come a long way to belong here.
We have come so far yet still far from what we want to be
And what the eye deems it fit to see.

Dear God,
I heard that you love me.
I still don't know how I wholly feel about that.
The more nights passed the more I realised I have been praying to myself my entire existence.

I have a few confessions,

Sometimes "So Buddha help me now" and "King David Fix it" sit comfortably on my tongue compared to your name and your son's.

I have no idea what 'Amen' means

When I see a capital G, I think Gangster before anything else.

The book my mother said you wrote makes me believe that even though I am a virgin, I will still give birth, what's the monthly blood for?

Your name spelt backwards is dog so I don't know if that means you're about to put the paws on me for not being a fixed believer.

Sometimes picking the little herb on Solomon's throne fills me more than stepping foot into your house.
You have so many houses, how do I know which one of them is a home?

Dear God,
I do not doubt that you exist.
I just doubt that you are all I am destined to believe in.

Monday, 30 November 2015

Yeah, My homie still.

I.
Dear Past Self.

Not plenty has changed
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
You always feared entering into new creation.
Your dead body was the welcome mat I needed for new beginnings
You said inhalation was your own method of suicide
I wanted you to put me on your lips and inhale
I desired to be the after taste on your tongue before you force me out through your exhale
I wanted you to watch me disappear into the air.

II.
Dear Past Self

All lives matter and not just because black lives mattered first.
With that kind of thinking antidote I had to outgrow you. That's that shit.
Your subconscious needs to find new facial expressions, I mean your old ones all looked the same, artistically rude. And we all know 'a rude gyal no fit do'
I found myself at a point where I have to cut myself away from your being and other beings who possess no constructive contribution to me.
I've tried to create new senses from your old feelings and old thoughts, but, I don't have that kind of magic in me anymore.

III.
Dear Past Self

I am tired of typing Dear Past Self over and over again just to prove how much I am trying to let the past go past.
Fact of the matter is, You don't know me anymore because you saw it fit to judge me on decisions I made, when I was still you.
Fun fact :
Knowing me means being aware of what I am capable of doing now.

IV. 
Dear Past Self

This is probably the last you will hear from me, it's not me, it's you. But even though I will never apologize for who you were nor who I have grown to be.

Thursday, 19 November 2015

I am You.

I am the soil from which the cultured nigga hails from
The air that intoxicates Anna's lungs with bliss so breathe Anna
The reincarnation of a Queen to Quinn so naysayers will have less to hold on to.

I am The tribe
The origin of originality, that's why they keep it locked up
I am the cosmic queen you are afraid to love because the moon brings out the melanin that you're afraid to show your mother.
You told her that it's not my fault for I possess a mask that allows king Deon to unmask himself.
My aura possesses the vibes of a butterfly maiden
I had to lose myself while finding you even after you were dubious that I am alpha

I am the soul,
I AM because you are and because your ancestors once were.

Friday, 18 September 2015

Simba.

I am African, where originality is manufactured so naturally
Where Asa asked us to tell her who is responsible for what  we teach our children.
Because our conscious, subconsciously tells us that we do not contribute to the flame of the fire on the mountain.

I saw the fire from a distance.
You thought that is was the  sun didn't you.

They made fear compulsory,
They burned images at the back of our heads about how we quench our thirsts with our mothers tears,
How we peruse in the soil full of death, How we are designed babies strictly made for exploitation.

They burned the night for whispering to the sleeping,
They burned our utopias, life lessons,
They probably burned how bad sex was last night, our flaws, our imperfections.
They burned our Utopias
And they burned our elephant memories too because remember that you had already forgot that I mentioned that it burned our utopias?  
Simba remember when you thought it was the sun?

The fire sparked that dreams are illegal in the ghetto.
The fire sparked that times are just too damn hard for a negro
The fire uses the word negro
And the fact that we still take offence to that does that mean that we are the neo that didn't grow?

It denotes  my consciousness
Because for some awkward reason it burns our wealth and makes the King of poverty lay down with  His crown made of thorns and shattered homes

I saw the fire from a distance
Remember?
Remember when I saw the fire from a distance?
You Simba, You really thought that it was the fucking sun didn't you?

             

Wednesday, 9 September 2015

Sleepstick stains

I've always contemplated whether to go to couples therapy with my Insomnia.
I call it a "she"
And
She always places her knuckles on my chin in order to stare deep into my eyes, fearing that one day I may actually fall asleep.

If anything I am not about to be told that I have "Posttraumatic stress disorder" if anything I have posttraumatic get outta my face, posttraumatic I haven't slept in days, posttraumatic what's the point?

We court 3 days a week but recently it has been 4 and every so often I disappear in her diaspora. She makes me one cup,
Two cups, 
Four cups of Coffee everyday and lightly asks if I've met anyone recently.
If I am emotionally available, 
If I still want four kids and if she could be the doula,
If I still desire to sleep.
Fearing that I might actually find someone who will love me lights out.

She has murdered everyone within a centimetre of my aura whose eyes can sing me lullabies, threatening that If they do she will make sure that I will feel a funeral in my brain or some shit and at that point I'm just like.. Bitch crazy.

I've always contemplated whether to go to couples therapy with my Insomnia reason being that she tells me that without her I will fall asleep and believe that dreams do come true,

In all honesty, I feel as though the therapist might say that I am only with her because sleeping means you're dead and because I dream in queer and white and because wearing weary eyes is the new black.

Monday, 13 July 2015

When She Says She Loves you

When a woman tells you she loves you,
She will utter it after hearing it several times but has never been able to come around it.

And you will pause as the crescendo to your laughter defies a new giggle clap.
And like anything else you will believe it because no woman has ever whispered these words onto a flower whose petals were clothed in soul.

When a woman tells you she loves you, she will cease to say it when the lights are on because you told her that like your past lovers, no one has ever embraced your beautiful in darkness  and how you always saw their lies clearly coated in guilt, dancing on the tip of their tongues.

And you will sit on the pavement near the parking lot where you first met, pushing the thoughts back and forth on how she always said it right after a romantic movie that was followed by a commercial on common sense.

Realising that your feet are haggard and covered in I-love-you, I-loved-you, I actually-never really-loved you I just wanted to feel the skin underneath your clothes scars.

When a woman tells you she loves you
She will walk away, leaving you loving the person she left behind which will no longer be the same you.  

Wednesday, 24 June 2015

Kai.

I dreamt of her
Her face, freshly pale.
Deceiving my medulla that man cannot dream of one whom does not exist
I ran my hands through the passes of her body.
At twilight her eyes lit up a sort of fire I breathed.

I bit her lip with my eyes open to see the hair at the back of her neck stand up and embrace me
I kissed her so deep with the hope that she'd forget whose air she was breathing
The thought that it was too soon for it to become our air had already surpassed.

She was a mess of a half smoked spliff and I a mess of spilled ink on an unfinished piece of handwriting
She had enough language dancing on her tongue that I understood
Her body covered in black tar as she human danced and re enacted the poetry I recited.

We sat
She mirrored me
We sat
The mirror vanished
Do not awaken me
Reality never seemed to amaze me anyway