HUMANITY………

Hunt me,

Wound me

Taste my humanity

Cut in to me, dissect my flesh

Do your worse to debilitate..

My tenacity, my  innate instinct to survive predators

Feed from the soils of their ruins

Survive the genocide of my family and create community of strangers in common struggle

 

Create endless laws that define crime as opportunity to create belief in anything

Leave my back bare of skin from the lashes of your broken men.

Trained to use brutal force to enforce you hatred laws

 

Create games of survival using guns, knives, broken bottles

Insecurities, poisoned kisses, man-made pain manufactured

weapons of human destruction.

 

Teach my hands to kill

Train me in the art of war

Then become spectator as I kill my allies to win the prize

of another breath….

another heartbeat

Parade my publicized sins as consequence of challenging the governing powers that be..

 

Degrade my individuality,

Manipulate my loyalty

Segregate my body from my soul

Indoctrinate my mind,

Create rules to give  profit to kings of kingdoms

Label it philosophy

Mark hues of skin as mine  enemy

Create wars with

Create war with offensive ideology whispered in the ears of battered hearts

Seeds watered in the disillusioned mind

define treason as  unique liberated thought

murder possibility with laws that kill ideas of better days

Bury hope with the consequence of death

Go ahead, hunt me

This body you created for war

A manipulated mind

Lick my wounds

Taste my humanity

This blood of my sweat…

My tears

 

It’s power is immune to thought

Fed by survival

A thirst for unity, serenity, possibility

Even when this body is weak

It eats

Humanity is emotion,

Feeling..

It grows in despair

Educated by anger

Fueled by pain

Dying…

 

In the jungle alone you die,

Your right

For family

For right

Those survived..the bruised and broken

Will unite and fight

Finding truth in the language of acts of kindness

Display valor of allies

HUMANITY……

 

Gathered in the ducts of my eyes

Pooling quickly

Battled emotion

Demand, stand down

HUMANITY…

Soul begets mind begets heart,

Felt ……,

Truth falls from pools of certainty

Thought, Idea, shared, truth,

HUMANITY!!!!

 

Hungry for Spirit

Thrives in hope

Buried inside

On the backs of strength

Selfless,

Freely Giving

Giving

A hunted- alliance

 

HUMANITY….

Give this Pain to Faith

Fear of death,

Alone, we are already dying…

So come hunt me

As this revolution begins

HUMANITY

Is love..

Love Will Always Out Live Death

 

Without that consequence….

What do you Really  have left?….

Sometimes I Want to Say “Bitch Please”

Sit the fuck down, ain’t nothing about you better than me

Except maybe the fact that you go around thinking the shit you do is worth something more 

than the praise you give yourself

Save a life

Remind someone how beautiful they are

These are things I find beautiful

the Steps inside promise that create change

the honest mementos of love 

that take the sour taste out life

Those that you share with strangers

those are rants that may escalate you to the likes

of better than

Instead of  what I see

Your candor of judgement

mimics of hurtful glances to enemies

and opportunities to belittle the people

struggling to make the end meet the chance

Just hoping for luck

when skill seems to be lacking in the execution

You laugh at the decay of physical kindness

Find the humor in the displayed lack of humility 

Your degree hanging from the wall inside the office

of your conformity

Does nothing for the truth 

that your children have become buillies of their

peers, play telephone with the fears

of their friends

these are your trophies

“Bitch Please”

call me nothing

remind me of my failures

and still hold on to the moronic belief

that the relief you feel is superiority

that by being in the upper level minority

of what society has labeled succesful

means prosperity

Prosperity lives in the breaths between laughs

in the understanding after falling

In the faith 

after lost

So Instead of wanting to say it I just will

Bitch please if you believe

that you are better than me

 

 

Dear Me…. About Two Years Ago

It’s been just you and I for our entire life. From the moment of conception, in those weary days where the outside world beyond mom’s womb has not exactly made a concrete decision on  whether we were even yet a person or not, it has been us, or better yet I. We wouldn’t want the world to believe that I or better yet we are mentally unstable.You are my former self and I have separated us for the pure fact that I have extricated myself from you by experience and pain, by forgiveness and well, just plain old growth and evolution. I have evolved beyond the moments of tears for nothing, or getting high for escape. Instead I have chosen to embrace my mistakes, and forgive the moments that we have experienced that have caused me or us pain. I feel less pain today then I did when I was a complete replica of you and I want you to know that I forgive you as well. I forgive you for your mistakes, for your misguided attempts at living, and I applaud you for your candor and your risks in life. If their was no you, there would be no me. Sometimes I think of you and I create advice for the similar situations in which I experience, I know that you know the paths that I should have taken even when I forget. You are close to God, new in your faith and open to see the miracles in the daily life you lead, where I have fallen short of belief, faith and hope in the present. It’s why I wanted to write you and I hope you write me back, because I have come full circle to the moment that changed us. Right before the fist of our sister contacted with our flesh over something as menial as the dvr. We lived and we forgave her, and we tried to show the belief of forgiveness in our actions to be here, struggling after so many positive decisions. Yet we are judged by those who were around us with no true understanding of who we were and who we are. Telling stories of us being “cracked out” and laughing about it as though it was true.  We were much more willing to be honest with the them and our self, and in living a view more days, experiencing a few more things we have forgotten to believe in people, we have forgotten to not just forgive them their misgivings but forgive our self for wanting to still believe even when we should do so from afar. I have lost my ability to just keep looking on them with loving eyes and saying, it’s okay to be you, but you will not make me less because of who you are.  This letter to me, about two years ago wants to say I forgive you believing that the choices you made would not affect the person I am today whether the choices were good or bad. I miss you in so many ways, I miss our freedom, but I love my growth. For a long time what people thought meant something to us back then but you didn’t care what they thought, you loved, and lived and were just who you were at that moment and I am not going to lie, I miss that part of me, that freedom, that reflection of who you were to us, and I mean us because while they have the negative to say, they forget to talk about how you listened, how you forgave, how you learned through humility to be kind. They forgot that while you listened to them state their emotional standpoints you really never said much, you just smiled and wrote it all down, Those who have remained have seen the growth and know who you are, those who have left you behind have lost the opportunity to know me. The people who got me through those days have had that same opportunity to meet the knew you and you are  much stronger now, you have transformed into me, You may not know anymore what to do with the daily, but you know how to treat a person. You would be proud of some our changes, and others would make you sad because you liked your bad but if we don’t talk sometimes,I might forget that how people see you matters, it just doesn’t mean the world. That opinion is God’s alone and let’s be frank,he loves you, he loves me and well he always knew.

One Tree Hill (the reprise)

Another day is coming to a  close and my heartbeats are in plenty as well as my inspiration. Funny how now One Tree Hill which inspired me so much in the past year has become my therapy, my emotional reprise, my antidote to a bad curse of ill presentation and bad humanity exploits.  I miss my show, and I think I am mourning it longer than ever thought i would. It had become something of an om-age to splendid loving spirit and the powerful act of love and kindness. We take for granted how God can use the most common of things to teach us, to touch us, and I think that One Tree HIll somehow reminds me that somewhere in the land of thought and promise somebody gets it and that I am not the only soul trapped inside of this human body hoping that others see the beauty in being able to live. Our ability to be great, to choose love, to believe in something beyond ourselves is not just a gift but a contract to God. The way we live matters, how we live matters, because we are here to prove that we do appreciate the love that God gives us. It was just a television show some may say, but what it is doesn’t matter because how important it is to me is what makes it great in my eyes. So this is my reprise to another Television season and the lost greatness has suffered from its ending.

The Arriving Man

As a woman I live in an understanding of my emotional culture. With each documented moment I live binding a library of books of my experiences. Something I find on my journey are moments of interaction with men in my community some of them from homes broken and others from families assembled by time and others in the traditional make up. The black man has been the consequence of negativity and forlorn thought. The black man is an elusive entity of strength and as the community of my peers evolve from young men to men it’s most powerful era I look at the elegance of transistion and the opposition of being a  legacy of decisions that maybe the men before them took. I am a woman and I like other little black girls were left to become women without the presence of a man in the home. Yet as God provides me the gift of  his love he has shown me the new understanding of the black man who has shed the heavy coat of prejudice and the cotton of a too hot life when trying to get  to a moderately comfortable temperature in there atmosphere of being the man on the outside of privilege. These arriving men whom I have named arriving because through the storms of history and disrespect and the lack of support These men truly need they still come through those foggy moments hoping and trying their best. They even arrive to the storms of us loud talking, strong willed, fatherless and fathered mess of understanding women.. Yet as a woman sometimes loving that man who needs so much love is hard but see him as arriving.. Why? Today I hear more men say… I have full custody of my baby… insert son and alot more in my world insert daughter. They breathe for these children, facing the disappointment of being not enough or not having enough in the dank aftermath of heated summers of no lemonade stands and no baseball games on shoulders of that elder likeness and those of us who live amongst the on the streets of father non-applicable to me… cuz I don’t know my daddy we know the pain of being apart of a single parent home and feel the strain of traits not owned by mommy. We are the generation of change and we are changing our outlook and we are fighting loudly with  the access of technology,,,, I am proud of us regardless of these colored skin suits. And I know in the colonies of different hues lives homes broken and children hearts broken by the choices of those who are our key to lifetimes of lifelines that teach us how we think, and live and celebrate life.

SO it’s for the man arriving in your world as well, those colored life coffee, deep and brown those with layered choices with skin so bright and illuminating, those have culture built in this soil, their heritage with their land stolen…  so do not be left out. Yet my fondness for these men made so much like me with deep brown skin, shadowed eyes and hearts of solid beaming gold left hidden with cavities of teflon. My little boys who have taken the stereotypes and made them enterprises, took the grid irons and concrete courts from games to headlines and fame. Those growing boys turned men with need to fight and survive instead of drive and arrive are still beating down the hot block with hearts that want to be home, want to know those kids even when they laid down to be incarcerated by women who still have the learned lesson that men leave… don’t believe, don’t grieve, left to live with pain than to have it eased. SO many days they sit with breaths caught in chest hoping to slang enough, dunk enough, take enough to be the present father and not just the donor who fertilized a egg with his seed.

Yes I want you to be the best man you can be, yet I also see the struggle and desire to aid you in knowing your worth and those small things also mean something. The desire, the attempt, the faith, the hope, the strength and the experience you both show, and provide bleed your love. As women we can nurture those strengths. Your power is in the love you feel, the meal you cook to quell the hunger, the sex you indulge in to show him the importance and need to not just your heart but your body.  The love they so seldom vocalize but will always show in their resounding baritone as they ask where we have been, if the oil has been checked, how they will walk on the outside, and do their best to apply what they have never learned but know in their hearts is right. Just the fight to live will show how much many desire to not be the stagnant typed without the stereo for its never displayed how much it hurts to have to say, not applicable and does not apply when it comes to the language we can’t identify whether it be fatherly or motherly love. This community of strength taught to survive… we need to learn how to thrive, be our own resource of love… Move away from the belief that we must be the dog that dined on the dog of circumstance. Must unite if you want to fight and win.

A generation passed full of daddy’s rolling by home home to collect stones they were made to believed were jewels…NO HOME IS WITHOUT IT”S STRUGGLE… and no parent meant to create and mold life alone. These men are a special breed, descendents of man made Achilles heels, robbed of identity, used as common artillery, bred to do the work of building empires of which they could not call home and while slavery had died on the dark hot tar we call pavement… it has already been paved and if not actively fought will remain submerged in hate.

No this is not about slavery for we are each free.  wanting to make a loud noise in the sake of revolution to be another block of words strung together about being the victim looking on to the inside with too much fear, too much pride and just enough anger to be forced to grow. I am a woman among many women with matching skin id’s and similar history, The women who love these black men, lets us the be their place of  love make his house his home so he leave behind his spot, his crib , make our homes kingdoms. Not with things but with those jewels of love… we call them support, trust, forgiveness, loyalty, kindness, tolerance and self control. Let us use our action of physical love with fortitude and and be the woman who sees his heart and chooses it above all. Yes we women have pains and hurts, yet me make the time whether right or wrong to sing our song, some constant singing his wrongs. Each replay comes with a fine of his worth, and time for he sees your pain and despite what all continue to think… a man in love with a woman in love with him… is not afraid to speak freely when she wears her priceless jewels daily and shows him the ultimate jewel is him.

… why do you think these men stay with you even when love didn’t build that home. Even as your belittle his masculinity instead of just telling him your pain. Why do you think they are not so quick to divulge in (sorry about my language) sharing the true power of his magic wand , his sword you’re so quick to use in a scheme to shut you down.. ONce it’s been offered you no longer hold the cards… he already  has part of your heart. In no way am I taking away  the power of a woman, a black woman who might look something like me…

I know your pain, I know your need… and part of our want is based on that man you desire… so open your eyes and see him arriving and love him gently. Promote his power in your world, Provide a safe place for his emotional vulnerability so he may use it has the secret weapons to slay his enemies and practice love in your words, needs, and actions… Show him that even know love has its flaws and you certainly don’t take lies, abuse, or negativity. Just do it the way love would.

For the world in which he lives and struggles to be seen as a equal… befriend him… he is a man just as you… regardless of the clothes he wears, his choice of song, his difference in opinion. He is like you really the only difference is his flavor. Regardless he is arriving, from shallow graves of mis conception, perception , and infectious outbreaks of humanity and their ignorant thinking.

Deeper Thought

The pursuit of love has been lost to the foils of the worldly belief that there really is something else to acquire and live for. As I sat in the garage of my now old apartment waiting for a friend that I met in the last dramatic made for night-time primetime drama of my life I spoke to the friends of my past and we dove deep into the idea of witchcraft the understanding of homosexuality and the age-old debate of religious doctrine. The belief  of a higher power lives in the dwelling of the heart or eternal understanding that we call the soul and no where in that understanding does it categorize us by the intent of our sexuality, the dull and small differences in skin pigmentation or the belief of culture or practice of tradition.

This past holiday season there was a commercial that stated that traditions were not to be kept but to keep us together and it touched me quite a bit for it was the truest thing I had heard among the selling  of products in a long time. For it appealed to the natural sense of relationships.

I feel as though I find myself screaming day in and day out about the course of life and the true meaning and reason or our journey of the human experience. Love is the ultimate tool for there survival of humanity.

 

If we look beyond the sight of life, meaning beyond the natural understanding of what dwells before me in action by pursuit of the identified connectivity what could we actually feel and who would we know. Many people we find to be different from us for the swag of the person is difference, the commonality of activity and the tired, old and unfortunately truth of ignorance. The blame , lack of knowledge on the individual  basis. We as humans have been duplicated human shells built from a synthetic fiber labeled fear!  allowing the blocks of separation to keep us at a divided front. Has anyone every looked to the days of preschool and looked at the memories of the friends kept. The laughs shared and the lack of demise of the human thought that had been taught to us as the years had on.

Last week I took the time to watch the movie the Bratz which was based on the popular selling doll line and I was brought to emotional overtures as I looked at the division of love to build on the yielding of power and found myself very touched and also floored that we have allowed the positioning of the devil to be placed in the intimate affairs of our lives. For those of you who passed on the sweet  tween scene movie… It talked about how five very different young woman with different goals, belief and activities lost  the memory of how they had become friends while the looming of new friends become the ideas of the current day.  We will meet similar solders during these days of growth and we shall embrace those people yet the difference of ideas and passion can be more than satisfying. And also the keenest of different minds leave us a step ahead of our enemy.

I think that Martin Luther King said it best… “That we judge on the content of our character” Let us not lose this battle. Our greatest tool is unity and love and we need this handguns of positivity to be warriors against our true enemey.

Let us leave behind the pursuit of money and power and become the beast of positivity. Please remove the glasses of conformity and hold the hands of our neighbors to connecct in humanity.

I have for years been a bit judgemental of one set of people for the the crass behaviors of to earn money. Leaving behind the heart of people who work for them. And as God planned I  family of similiar heritage to find that for me to take my formulated and observed opinoion to weaken my plight for the growth of myself and humanity.

The only thing that really matters is love and connectivity.

Beyond the Sight of our Media driven lives there are other people with stories identical to yours and those petty distant factors of separation will mean nothing when it comes to the drive of survival. Which is why I love the movie Poseidon.. that is love and unity working it’s magic..

Evoke Pleasure or Pain. Choice?

Each day is another chance at personal and connected beauty. Defining beauty as the sincerity in our hearts displayed by actions, by reactions, by the words used to vocalize thoughts for purpose, for freedom, for gain, for destined path to destination. Which as I write this, I look at the word destine and the word destination and I see something I have never really seen before. Life is a constant battle of our thoughts, fears, dreams, experience and circumstance. We are so much like the building blocks that we played with as children. Each day building us mentally, emotionally, spiritually, effecting the next set of actions, and decisions we make. We as people give so much power to our surroundings and are environments to control the depth of which we display our wild and natural emotions. The things we feel are never wrong. However how we say, display and convey these wild and natural freedom of emotions can uplift or discourage the world in which we occupy. This is the hardest of lessons and breathes a rhythmn unique all it’s own. Fear is the leading cause of conformity and lost souls and is the greatest tool of the greatest enemy while living this human experience.

The key to choice is it’s freedom. We can do what we want and I know many people out there just as me have used the words in heated moments of defiance, defense and explanation. I can do what I want. Yes, yes you can. Yet should what you want hurt the people who share the environment of your life. Those who you come into contact with, and love should not be affected in a manner of negative based on your actions. How often are we sharing our misery, our consequences for as strong as we were to create the destination and path of the negative, we have become weak in baring the judgement of the universe in a solo one man act. The disease of negativity has the power to turn around the course of someone’s day, their life, their destination could be marred from the lost of positive for negative. I want you all to have smiles, do you want it for yourelf, your family, your friends. Never believe that people do not bare the grunt of our emotional ovetures even when they do not speak of the cough or stuffy nose of lies, deciet, attitude and rape of the smile that leaves the faces that surround us.

Chosen Mayhem

In this life we meet several crossroads and for almost 60 percent of our in awaken states are at pivotal points of transition. I have been in a stagnant point of career transition and in an evolving emotional transition for the past year of my life and am feeling moments of eruptions bubbling at my core. I have dreamed of writing for most of my life and have been told that to do it is to write daily but mostly would never be a dream realized. I have been mostly inspired in times of overwhelming moments of unrequited love. Or I have been entirely inspired in states of a feeling I have identified as love and I have tired of just loving and have yearned to be loved yet now the most inspired moments have been in moments of intellectual and cerebral states of lackadaisical and lonely activities. But most of all for most of my life I have chosen dramatic Mayhem. In days of normalcy as the world has put it, I have been stagnated by the process of living and therefore have used likely moments to earn money. The jobs have been boring mundane versions of sales and customer service jobs that become catalyst to seek out the Mayhem of the unknown, the worldly unpopular and I had let the inner voice to write die within me but then I found love years ago with a she version of male roles and the dramatic mayhem arose from illicit behaviors and my pen began to move inside of my heart, my mind and then my hand. The stories that have come from titled experience is a contaminated puss of life’s infection and it’s gory and a chosen Mayhem that has labeled me a self destructive problem among my family and friends, yet now the dream to never be realized seems real and the emotional growth stunted years ago is in a growth spurt. The marriage of my heart, soul and mind has bore children of faith and confidence. Yet to be a winner among the eyes of the world I must produce something. Late this evening doing what others find as problematic I have began to think of ways to prosper in this world of calm a new type of productive chosen Mayhem free of negative influences, people and love unrequited. A new active force of myself that allows me this normalcy that world desires of me, a forgiveness of those and a unpolluted day to day magnet to what is good. I want to write and I have been doing so in states of emotional tyranny in states of inspired awe and in states of out of mind highs induced by narcotics, be it the wine from a store, the blow from a party, the grass from a freedom thinker, the speed from the forlorn doctor and I love all those different states of me as much as I hate thinking of rent, bills and days without a man who has chosen a woman for sexual sales over my faithful dedication to he and I am wondering will they applaud my “writers” honesty when my pages are printed or will they baffle their own perceptions of what they thought judgments to the point of hating the me that is revealed the girl who enjoyed her chosen Mayhem. The woman who has found a faith in a God so many use as a weapon instead of a common love supplier dealing his forgiveness as willingly as the neighbor dope man deals his dope. Will the world always see the different as crazy and will I be labeled and filed under that category myself.
I am of the crazed creative clan that feels music when it plays like vibrating touches, notes scaling the skin and words permeating the air inhaled like oxygen. I am a watcher of movies who sees the beauty beyond the words but in the depth of the lessons that love is the true currency in this life. The eyes that see the fear in the dialogue lost to monsters for they are products of true hate of the different and unloved. Jason killing for the desire to be taken to trick or treat yet left to the pain of youth, the freddy burned for his childlike innocence to the point of corrupting dreams yet most see just the killing the blood but care not of why? Walking the reality streets of our everyday world as the high rise building house zombies seeking only more green tinted number denoted pieces of paper for status so why is exhibited and never needs to be investigated. Yet the mayhem they have chosen is acceptable in the eyes of this world and still the homes of this fanatical currency chasers still desire what their why can’t create. Love and companionship. Their stereos blast words of bitter, brave, longing, touching, feeling lyrical prose that darkened hearts have bleed, sweat and cried to have heard while they down sweet darkened spirits, inhale green image provoking trees, inhale chemically crowning white clouds, to quiet the pains of those they pass, to dull the leech like fire of loves emotional and mental pulls. Then they croon, write, paint, create versions of emotions that these others cannot explain yet somehow relate to when see, heard, or even tasted as we starve for their comforts, yet smile more days, cry more days, draw from more faith then they. It was a chosen mayhem to walk among the emotionally dying, be lost to the darkness of misunderstood pain and just ask why? Why are you angry? Why don’t you believe? Why not me? Why did you? Why do I? Many laws with I didn’t comply. Many rules left broken. Yet many souls have called to me to just be heard, asking for my way with words to transcend what in me was broken, to be the gateway, their love the token to pay my way to entry into the minds of the zombies who ask me to chose the mayhem that can be noted acceptable, I wasn’t detectable so I rode alone until they asked me to share that sweet brown spirit or inhale they tree, and there is where the story began to seep free…

Find Me In My Written Word