#painful

The cause and effect.

Oh how did I forget to put the honey on the womb that was the atonement to your aliveness? Your spliced solace 

Combined like terms

And you get I.

With you it was a mistake gone right.

A cold case found 

A rebound

Rebooting the hard drive we thought it was the sound.

It was.

Our truths not told so it was heard in third parties,

Lowly is the man who has nobody.

Friends forever broken down,

passion ignited was the beginning of the end to a union that was suppose to last forever.

Our forever was momentarily infinite.

Parasites to the mental capacity to see beyond our way of thinking left us like this.

 Creative mind ceased,

Yet the memory keeps the juices flowing.

Finding love in a hopeless place put me in a position to be truly loved.

To know what it felt like.

Life ain’t so easy as they say 

And situations ain’t so stationary as envoys 

I was employed

To invite you to a branch of lighthearted comfort and familiarity.

You served as an editor of what Self worth meant to me,

I see the God in me,

All thanks to you.

Appreciation is an understatement 

I appreciate this current present.

To love and be loved so perfectly aligned 

I never could of dream of such sweetness.

The cause and effect. 

Going through the dark to see the light.

You made it all possible.

I thank you for your wisdom.

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What a devastating  tragedy 

:: the greatest thing I knew turned into the most common thing i see.

This December cold 

December cold brings on this aesthetic soul as crazy psyche behaviors caught in a web are traveling down unknown roads.A feeling of pain resonates here.
The chill factor is below zero matching my eye reaching soul windows.In dire need of a superhuman hero,

No one comes to save this day.So there is this bathroom mirror.

Acting by day and troubled by night,this December cold is going to rock me to sleep at night.

Not mentally feeling too well but my third eye still has its sight.The eerie feeling that I’m being put at bay until we reach new heights.

Searching for my soul to be fed, I find comfort in the food of thought.

Is this world really worth my energy? Do we all need love like we say we do? Is there really someone out there with the purest of hearts?

As I continuously feel this subconscious pain in my diaphragm as if it’s a board full of darts,I wonder if I’m carrying the worlds pain with me or just my own.

This December cold is one chilly one, living out my dreams out as if I finally won,yet the tears in my eyes feels like I lost a big one. 

Praying I get out this season alive for only this universe knows my truest intentions,therefore I should trust it will work its way out of me. 

Until then I must bear this cold on my own, this tragic lonely feeling of knowing I’m all by myself is a little frightening.

A room full of people and I look around and only see a distance.

My scarf securely fastened around my neck from frostbitten individuals, I try to discern what’s right. 

my dad’s brush

This brush reminds me of some things about you,

How you’ll brush your wisdom towards the front and made sure all of our shoe laces were intrinsically tied, how you would brush the flem off of us when we cried.

This brush reminds me of all the times you came and showed up to save our emotional lives, as we were eternally dying and knowing naturally we weren’t born yet you held us so strong as a father would do anyway. 

Never reminding us we were different because you accepted the challenge to love us more than. Replacing the fatherless individuals who decided to give up on us. 

The pain would temporarily subside because you allowed us to live free and creatively get by.

This brush reminds me of the times you’ll allowed me to experiment on your hair line, as if you believe I was made up of magic and I could do anything if I put my mind to it.

Your subtlety brought joy in our lives while you enjoyed kids being innocent and let our imaginations run wild.

You never once interrupted that.

How we would imitate our favorite wrestlers moves and you’ll sit back and laugh at our noticeably novice groves.

You allowed us to be free. Free from the pain and heartache that occurred upstairs. You freed us from feeling dismayed when rejected by our own. You freed us dad there’s nothing more to say.

So every time I brush my own hair with the brush you used,

I feel like I’m still apart of you.I still feel the same spirits we both caught in church together, the same feeling of you allowing me to sleep on your shoulder when life became boring for me.

The same feeling when you cried and told me how much you love me as a daughter.

The same feeling when you showed up at my basketball game and the same feeling of infinity.

Infinite gestures to indicate through everything I always had you to rely on.

What a hard day to go through where this is the day you celebrate your father and I have no one to turn to.

I love you so much dad and this brush, the only piece of physical memory I have, reminds me of you.

  

Straight… No chaser.

It’s said to be no black blood left on this earth we build, 
One must know the resilience placed in our favor.
White people: we are the chosen one… 
maybe that’s the reason why you hate us so much.

You constantly tore us down for a lifetime of forevers,
You crippled us so horrendously that we could never make it out of these stippling situations you blame us for.
We must use proper English to even get a bit of your attention in a first round interview.
Yet our credibility doesn’t mean shit to you past our beautiful brown skin. 
I hate these people but I love the ones who are knowingly aware,
Who aren’t ignorant like you adventitious KKK’s believing in Columbus rhetoric but I digress because in your words that’s reverse racism.
I choose my words and I believe they are hurtful because of the criminal intentions you already did to fuck my own future,
How you kilt my innocent brother’s life in the streets and left him for dead,
And walked away a hero.

You hate us,
And guess what?
I hate y’all back.
Why can’t I perpetuate the same innate hate you have against us?
My notion is this: we are the originators of this world.
Our history has been recycled for us to sort through in order for us to understand our own self. 
Our upbringing consisted of tea cup revolutions and a bunch of treaty shit I can’t recall,
And all I remember where I came from was slavery.
Not realizing Yoruba culture officiated Catholicism. 
Not realizing we originated so many artistic platforms for y’all to steal from us.
Our Robert Smalls and Elijah McCoys not recognized. Yet Pagan holidays are present to keep our attention at bay. Media originates back to Merrill lynch which he made the notion to dissect our beautiful brains with your poison.

I want to go back to Africa.
Not realizing how I felt was just my soul restoring my lineage. 
You’ll never understand how we made it through. And still will.

To just let go.

My emotional wreckage is set up like shiny new born babies coming down the birth canal squirming to get out yet the doctor states that the baby is breached.

My emotions are set up as if the ocean tides that are pulled by the sun gave way for the most rebellious surfer to try his hand at the great lengths this wave may take him only to find out he has to wait for the next one.

These tears keep falling down my face as if the past keeps repeating itself in vain and none of the hard work I put in to unlearn the pain and isolation of being seen and not heard was brought to life and as a result I feel like I can’t breathe. Suffocating into a revolting question mark.

And these words… These mere words I carry like a homeless person on 52nd and woodland holding on to their possessions; protecting it with their life knowing that this is all that they have and the memory of knowing that they had more channels an inner desire to make sure they’ll never let this bag go.

My heart. My heart succumbs to the devastation of men, men who I briefly see as an outlet yet to only later find out I just pick the ones who are designed and specializes in breaking the one organ I find life in.

So I hold my tongue. Afraid to be down to earth because my head is a space shuttle full of ambiguity that I’m sure no one could relate to because the jibbish dialect that tells my space cadet stories derives from being an offspring of a mother who rather smoke crack than take care of her 5 kids that all have different daddies. So I put myself in a state of reclusiveness knowing for sure no one will ever want to be be my friend yet alone wife up.

I’m currently alone in a bathroom, ass on the toilet hearing only the sound of me typing this and the air conditioner in the bedroom. And for the first time I can say I’m utterly sad.

Sad I never spoke up for myself. Sad I never had the courage to be the unique woman God has made me to be. Sad I was these different images that people wanted me to portray. Sad I never had the chance to properly tell the one person who truly love me goodbye. Sad I rely on the fictitious men to figure out my worth for me. Sad I can’t still come out of this shell I never knew even existed.

I just want to let go. Not die but fall off a bridge and fear nothing. Close my eyes and let everything just go.