Black as Me

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 I was born into a world of restrictions and contradictions,

which in my youth had led me to believe

That I could be whatever I wanted to be. 

Although the faces that were presented as motivation 

only reflected pale ghostly figures.
No one Black, like me.

I grew and conceded, 

As I learned that the world
I once thought was so free and accepting 

was cruel, and demanding a price too rich for my blood 

How can I compete in a world where my skin is my greatest enemy?
Haunting and taunting me.

Reminding me of all the things society won't let me be.

Hell, they won't even let me breathe.

Waiting on something, patience and worshiping have yet to achieve

How does anyone survive being Black?

As me.

To Kill an Insect

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What's the value of an insect's life these days?

So shortly numbered, and unappreciated,

Yet overly publicized and criticized
By unsympathetic bodies and eyes
That take pride in declaring,
There is no place, here, for an insect. (SMACK)

Who would have ever thought that an insect,

So black, so small, so insignificant

Could cause such an uproar 

With its intruding presence.
Uninvited, and feared

Why kill an insect? (STOMP)

Is it in spite of the insect's resilience?
Conquering farms and dunghills with pride.
Or leisurely boredom that leads to deciding
There's no meaning to the life of an insect? (CLAP)

Still, insects continue to thrive
Only in the end to be recognized
                                                      By unsympathetic bodies and eyes

Declaring there is no place, here, for an insect. (SMASH)

Power Struggle

There's something about the warm comfort of well-structured, gripping walls

That won't allow a man to say no.

Who could deny the requests of such pleasure?

Surely the payoff would be worth it...so he agrees,

All the while losing himself, little by little.

You see the deeper he dives into crevices,

Battling waves of wetness,

Searching for buried treasure,

He knows that the heart he desires will never belong to him.

The further he proceeds, the more his vision blurs, but he can't turn back.

Such pleasure has to be worth the fight.

There's something about the warm comfort of well-structured, gripping walls

That won't allow a man to say no.

He holds it tightly and cherishes it deeply,

But it kills him to know that it will never be love.

Miss Promiscuous

I know you probably awoke expecting breakfast in bed,

But let me tell you, honey you got the wrong one for that!

You see, as amazing and passionate a night we had, it was just that,

A night. Nothing more, nothing less.

So could you do me a favor and start getting dressed.

These eyes that you found to be so captivating

Don’t seem to shine so bright anymore.

Mesmerizing reassurance replaced with brown deceiving balls

To let you know this is no joke.

And those sweet words, whispered so softly on vulnerable ears,

Arrows delicately sharpened, essential tools for any hunter.

You see this emotion you call love, is just a game to me.

I don’t mean to be cruel, but this drug called lust

Has quite a powerful pull.

And I know you thought what you found was love

But honestly that’s what happens when you choose to get your heart involved.

Well time is wasting and I see you’re fully dressed

So I’ll send you off with a hug and a kiss.

A lesson learned from miss promiscuous.

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They caught me on a moonless night

Bearing a grocery bag

As I walked along the maze of streets

That I had mastered in youthful days.

Safe, secure fantasy quickly vanished as

Frightening figures emerged from shadows.

Clutched from behind

Grasped from up front

Slurs and chants rang all around!

Help was called, he did not answer

Prayers were sent, to never be delivered!

I thought to myself this must be a mistake,

I could not possibly be this “nigger”

This “faggot” they sought so violently.

The minutes left wounds of tormenting years

Reminders of such a terrifying event.

Whelps and stings overwhelmed my body,

Tears and sweat my only comfort.

They snatched no chain

Nor picked any pocket.

The relic they stole was much more valuable.

They quickly disappeared,

Returning to haunted shadows.

Leaving me sprawled in misery,

Thinking, hoping that it couldn’t be

That this nigger, this faggot was me.

The Coldest Spring

I once was the target of a bully.
But this bully was no schoolyard rival after homework and lunch money,
It was a man after my heart.

It began as warm and delicate as spring.
A blossoming love affair, complete with smooth kisses and serenades.
He embraced me so warmly
I removed all the layers I had built.

I was in love.

My love was met with his lust
Hard, long, powerful thrusts.
I found his passion to be as scorching
As July's sun.
First, he stole my heart
Then he captured my trust.
I was mesmerized by such esteem
That I fooled myself into believing he was the man of my dreams.

I ignored the subtle changes
Which accompanied his demeanor
Busy hoping things would get better.
I laughed when he called me a punk,
Jeans too tight to be worn in his family's sight 

the first glimpse of my beautiful golden world 

changing to dimmer, darker phases.

I cried when he called me a faggot!
The harsh sting of a brittle wind of change distorted my world.
A catalyst for colder events.

A push here, a fist there
Love never felt so cold.
Just be a man! Stop those tears!
Words so harsh they left bruises no hand could ever make.

How did it get so far?

These blossomed lips no longer dripped
Sweet honey kisses, but gushed hot blood.
Eyes that once embraced bright sunny skies only sought overcast, dim lit worlds.

Pulling off these clothes and looking at this bruised and bleeding image, I wonder, when did this become me?
Taunted by the reflection of a slumbering body peacefully smiling.
How could someone I love make a heaven of my Hell?
Bags packed but nowhere to go, I weep
At the realization of my resolve.
I've found my spring
It's just a little cold.