Trying Again...

As given more than enough time to adequately digest the bullshit served so steadily by your hand I find that I am unfit for most human companionship and therefore retire from rhetoric. That is to say I find the average unappealing, and you, sweetheart, were average. Unique a far as the standard of acceptability goes, but beyond the mundane you are invaluable. Among true gems, you do not shine. Oh but I could not see that. Then again, I had never really seen true gems. That is until I looked at me. I rolled out of a too high bed in a spartan dorm room in Atlanta with a bit of a hangover, the smell of a sweaty stripper still on my skin, and some of my make up from the night before still on. My hair was a mess, I had morning breath and one of my eyes would not open completely. But when it did I saw ME. The Me that had not thought about you in 24 hours and had somehow managed to untattoo the image of you from my eyelids. The me that had moved on....
It was hard. For a long time I was your cheerleader, your mascot, your secretary, your freak and somehow, your friend. I gave the best of myself and saved the worst for myself. I spent may nights in a puddle on my floor wondering why you would not love me. Why you would always hurt me. I even left the state because when near you, I couldn't remember me. I told myself that eventually the day would come when I would wake up and see ME. And love ME. And put ME first. But God knows how distant that possibilty was. I prayed for divine intervention because all else looked impossible.
When The Day came it snuck upon me like old age. I had not noticed the gradual ebbing of sadness, madness and obsession. Rather, my days were gradually being filled with other forms of craziness. But it was me in control this time. I like to think I mastered my heart, but the realist in me knows that is impossible. I merely know that after so much time I healed. And I forgave. Most importantly, I forgave myself. I had to learn the truth about love, without ever tasting the sweetness of it. The way you made me feel was not the shit they described in the love songs...
A year gone and I still sit and listen to your lies. And I still love you. But this time I love you properly and from a disance. I take you with a grain of salt, and devote the best of myself to Me. Because if no one will love me I will. I do not care. I simply cannot care about you and those like you, who always put yourself first. For now I will put me first...
Even now after all the pain I am not done. I am resilent. Isn't that what this game is about? I will ease my mind and smile...the future is bright and I, Me, the lover and the Poet am fine...and I will be ready when its time to try again...

In light of Orwell's Animal Farm

In reading the novel Animal Farm I found myself slightly outraged and disgusted. I knew the novel was a paradigm for the communist indoctrination of western europe, or so I assumed from the critiques of the novel, but it was hard to seperate myself from the characters. Or the animals I should say.
Boxer, the cart horse, could represent black people, who in Orwell's lifetime where known to toil their lives away and die early, only for their children to resume their post in the working mans life. They were never appreciated and very rarely reached a point of luxury or even mild comfort. Me being the baby Black Panther I am, I immediately recognized the relationship between the tragically simple and devoted cart horse and my people.
In short, the story told of a fictional animal rebellion from their oppresive human masters. The animals were spurred on by a supposed dream retold by Old Major, the farm's prize boar. Shortly after the dream is passed on, Old Major dies, leaving the simple animals mind's pregnant with the thoughts and dreams of a life devoid of human influence. This could only be achieved after rebellion, and so rebellion was had. Led by the angry horses and cows who had not been properly fed, the owner of the farm and his men were easily dispelled, and later repelled when they attempted to recapture the newly claimed Animal Farm.
Upon finding themselves freed the animals do not know what to do with themselves. It soon comes to them, however, that there is much work to be done if they are to remain self-sufficient, but the task ahead seems much lighter now that they are their own masters. The pigs, who are the most clever of the animals, readily assume posts as the brains of the operation. The foreshadowing was enormous, but the novel went on smoothly. The animals then adopt 7 Commandments, which are to maintain equality among the animals, as well as prevent them from deviating from the principles of Animalism, their developed philosophy. SOon however, things begin to change as the pigs begin to assume more and more of the mental aspects, eventually removing any form of democracy from the lives of the animals. Napoleon, who is laconic and somewhat repellant, has seized power through fear, he has raised a brood of dogs from weaning age and trained them to kill at his command. He then begins to systematically remove not only democracy, but any remembrance of democracy, and even has one of his minions, Squealer, secretly alter the commandments so that the things they now practice do not violate the commandments. Eventually the animals are reduced to worse conditions than existed on the farm prior to the rebellion, although they cannot remember what those conditions were. They only know that life is hungry and miserable. The pigs have moved into the farm house, sleep in beds, drink alcohol, wear man's clothes, and even walk on two legs. The once leader and Comrade, Napolean has become something like a master to the animals, and now not only runs the most efficient farm in all of England, but now keeps company with humans. Orwell ends the book by saying something curious had occured with the pigs, something unnatural (as if), and says "The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which."
This novel, which I began reading in 5th grade, really became much more real to me. The manipulation of religion, ignorance, and fear in government has suddenly become very simple and very complex. The pigs managed to convince the other animals that everything they were doing was in their best interest, lest the hated humans return and seize the farm. Comparable perhaps, to the way the Patriot Act was passed. We rebelled and overthrew the English rule, only to replace it with the tyrannical and racist system of government which now controls our lives and our minds. Homeland Security is keeping the borders tight, to everyone except the terrorists. There are more black males enlisted in the army than in college. Perhaps because the Military Industrial Complex has picked up where the Prison Industrial Complex left off. It is fascinating, the way we have been manipulated. This is precisely why I am a developing politcal scientist/analyst, because these things should be studied. In closing I will say, Animal Farm is a phenomenal novel, one that any mind of depth, seeking clarity should engage. Bonne lecture!

The Time between Tears...

Even now it is easy to remember the smell of your skin

The only scent I remember clearly

Lips pressed to remember what the heart struggles to forget

The feeling

Of loving, and being loved in returned I learned peace with you

But something was missing and the time between the tears was wet

With the sound of fears as yet

Unexpressed

A smooth brown that looked like honey

You asked me not to call you that, but in my head thats what you were

I know you still think of me even now, lover, as we train our hearts

To dismiss what regret has left amiss, we fit like pieces of a disk

Snapped by the hands of jealous angels

And I let you go, just to let you know I could

But my arms outstretched remind me who was really in control

You were the one piece of my soul that I reserved

That one part that was still fresh, and I have never felt so betrayed before

So impure

Dark and tainted, stained with love and regret

I gave you more tears than I realised

And I watched the little girl in me die

I came to understand great things in the time between tears, lover,

Even now, I am learning, growing and changing

Accepting and rearranging

And this ain’t no romantic comedy

You won’t appear with a smile and some flowers

I wouldnt accept them if you did

Instead we will dance a fateful dance, take a guilty little chance with other

Unsuspecting souls until we realize the wholes of ourselves were left behind

In the time between tears and even now, lover, as I remember

There is no bitterness here

Only love, and even now I realise what has died here,

and what will be born from its ashes,

Even now…

The Capitalist Dream...

As I look upon the world from my small window in a small house in a small town in North Carolina, it is hard to see the world as beautiful. I have seen much in a short time. It is hard to imagine a world devoid of hatred and anger. It is hard to be peaceful in a world of violence and corruption. It is hard to maintain altruism in a world of selfishness and egoistic hedonism.
So we smile, sigh, shuck and jive. My perspevctive is gray but the options are black and white. Do what you must and survive, or try to maintain and fall by the wayside. The wayside is looking near but it is funny how limited people's perspectives are. Struggle is in my opinion an essential part of the human experience. It will keep you in touch with you brethren. But like anything in excess it will chip at the foundation. Too much struggle will break apart the will, leaving an exposed mass of nerves, liable to shatter at a touch. Too little struggle will leave one haughty, dysfunctional and unable to empathize. And sometimes we could all use a little empathy.
I guess I have come to understand myself as a socialist. Maybe thats the stress of being a struggling black college student, or maybe, just maybe in my nineteen years of sentience I can see the logic in a system that would leave none want wanting for too much. Perhaps we are all just fools who need more time to get it right. Of course. We are all fools who need more time, but we don't have that. We have today and now. So I guess we must say shakran'Allah and inshallah tomorrow will be better. I look to my brother, who can't help me; he is too busy trying to help himself. I look to my sister, she is too removed from my plight. At the rate we are going we are all some kind of screwed. Welcome to Existence, ain't it great?

Home for Dandelions I

Somewhere in this world there is a home for dandelions. It might be lurking, just out of sight, or somewhere we are intent upon looking, but not seeing. There is a home for dandelions because here strange things occur. Tears fall. I swear winds blow upward. I refuse to believe that there is no place where weeds are welcome.

Spanish Guitar

Wanted him to hold me
So I ployed my way into an embrace even if it was 
A chokehold
Wanted him to love me
So I let him slip inside to enjoy the ride
Wanted his praise 
So I made him say my name 
Over and over
I always thought i had gotten 
What I wanted 
I still think I got what I deserved
And now when I think of him
I hate roses
And the beauty of the Spanish guitar 
He never held me like
Or stroked me
Never whispered sweet nothins
Never loved me
Never lived inside me
We Never let each other be
We were too busy trying
To get what we could from the alliance
Now there are no words 
Only the faint chords of 
A spanish guitar
That won't remind him of me 

Impossible Flowers

Sometimes in April I forget what it was like
You know? Peace
And then may comes with it's flowers and hope
And maybe the rain did bring new life
So I can still smell him
No matter how hard I try to forget the scent of love
And dissapointment
And intangible things
And he always comes back on different forms
But it took learning to love myself that it was always 
Going to be
The same him
Distant and beautiful; growing only to die
I begin to love only to cry
These are impossible flowers
That will not stay in the earth they will only stay in dreams
They will only be here until they leave
And I will be left loving them
Longing for their distant beauty and the smell 
Of them
Of him in all his forms 
And gotdamn these storms will kill them
So i protect them
Nurture them
And always in April celebrate them
For all the joy and sorrow they bring
My impossibe flowers  

The Truth is...

The truth about us is we are dying too fast to live
Living too fast to forgive and all the while we try to give
The image of calmness in the storm as though calamity is the norm, form and content
Mingle and discontent tingles in my spine in my spirit like death
Loving til my last breath this thing that binds me, drowns me and keeps me afloat
My hope that there is something beyond this and bliss?
Oh baby.

The truth about us is we are to ugly for words cus we make ourselves heard
Through blows to the heart when the gut is so much more apparent a target
Transparent I martyr myself til no one wins
These storm winds are prevailing and Im sailing into the beyond
All the while singing this song
on the truth about us...

Agape

I guess I was wrong
That happens sometimes when these words don't meet the lips
And the smile don't meet the eyes I am so strong
That I started carrying my sorrows in my pockets
Even as I juggled minor planets
And I looked to him for comfort
He said he would always be there and I wanted to believe that
He reminded me of a summer day in Brooklyn
A trainride away from happiness
And I promised I would never break like they had
Never cause pain like they had
Never take, always give, even if it meant my last
I was willing
His lips were the only thing that soothed me
In dark moments when the tumult of life slip into crevasses I could not protect
He would
With that smile that was brighter than any sun
And we was so powerful it was poisonous
Pure danger
And I loved him that much harder
They call it agape
Unconditional Love
There was no objective truth when it came to him
No time when context wouldn't count more than actions
No time where I wouldn't juggle tears, the truth and reason
To make sense
We were seasons, we were chaos
We were chasms and light blended into fury
Some kind of cosmic dance, we took our chances and my stance shifted
TO carry the weight you see
To balance the smile and pace myself for the miles ahead
He became my everything and that left me with nothing
But agape
SO I hold his memories like he held my hand
And I will not forget the lessons he taught
Through his actions, through my heartbreak
Through it all
I promised to always remember the way he felt
Until my smile and my eyes no longer meet I will carry you
Long after you have forgotten
I will be there, like I said
Agape

Honey Hand Sam

Drip drop. Honey hands. Strangling the strangelings.
Beat before they meet demands.
Glazed lies, narrowed eyes. And you are gentle.
With your hands around my neck, and promises.
Etched in the next moment of insanity but you meant every bit
Of the death you brought, so don't say sorry
Don't promise me safety in social contracts, abuse me with constructs
And then speak to me of my misdeeds
Drip drop. Sticky hands cling to me like regrets
Odorous like cigarettes
Beaten into sumbission, you promised something different
But you lied
Honey hands and gilded tonge
Sent them walking a trail that soon came to bear their blood
This is not what you said it would be
We wear their marks now
All of us and your honey hands are still there
Ever present
Squeezing
Bringing that sweet death and broken promises
We were supposed to be happy
And like some mirage you dissapear
Behind smoke and mirrors and well written fables
And discreet and slightly enticing threats
What a fool I was to believe you ever meant well

Gently strangling the hope
With honey hands and gilded tongue

With Hearts Like Icarus

We slipped and fell into something of a spell in which the only two that
truly mattered was us
And we became something ugly and poisonous
Noiseless but altogether we too loud to be tolerated
A kind of silent destruction orchestrated by our hearts that wouldn't speak their mind
All of a not so sudden the tumble ended where the fall began
Our plummet to earth just as riotous as our time spent above it
Kind and Queen of Darkened Stars
The rulers of a diminished landscape
We escape ourselves in each other
Even as one's demons awaken to claw at the other's leg
I ask you for promises and you give me sullen comforts
Eyeless beliefs dance in relief in your mile-high smile drenched in something
Unfamiliar and painful
What is familiar but pain? What else have I known so well
And so when we fell into that spell it almost seemed as if I had finally
Reached home
But isnt that what poems are for?
Sore from our descent we consent to consort and resort
To stabbing words to make ourselves heard above the din of a calamity
That comes from being in love and not being able to say so
We know
You hear my tears in witching hours like I hear your curses in the dark
My anguish that thing which leaves its mark
Which of course you ignore because you have become so accostomed to not feeling
that you've forgotten what it means
Altogether
Whether or not we make it from this spot
We must remembe what we endured to get here
We will escape nothing unscathed but our rage for ourselves will sustain us
I will maintain my brave smile while you shrug
We flew too close to the sun and now we are burned
From poor Icarus was nothing learned?
We will recover and hope to return to that place
So close to the sun
Where nothing truly matters but us and our hearts
So much like Icarus

Hardluck Poems I

She spit hardluck poems
The one like his handprint was always on her cheek
the one like her reality was bleak like her mentality was on some fuck it shit
Hardluck like hard hands and brown bodies
And the break in the beat was like the sound of fists into ribs
ANd guilty feet whose dance always crack bones
Or crack homes
They saw her cry more times than laugh
The brown children that wore his smile and her eyes
And his lies of peace kept her between them
They her burden and as big as her slice of the pie got
He was once her escape and now she sought to escape him
And when she could not she spit hardluck poems that reminded her of home
That reminded her of when the smile met the eyes
And the tears were infrequent
And the scars didn't add up to some sorrowful mural on her skin
Mocha without, hurting within
She trusted him
Believed he would vindicate her
Believed that he was her raison d'etre
Until she realised her reason to be was life
And these kids with his smile
Across time and space her complexion changed to match that
Of a woman by another name
But the same pain follows
Always
Until we realise that those blows aren't dealt with love
And the only hands that strike belong on clocks
And these poems may elevate but they won't save
Those hardluck women from and early grave
Just sayin

HE

Walked into my dreams like a nightmare

Walked in and took the dark with him but with him ain't where I'm at

And where I'm at ain't where I wanted to be

I saw myself with him and with him I looked sweet

I looked bright I saw light that I had given back

The brightness within me sought the calmness of him and before it was over

it had yet to begin

We take solace in the dreams of tomorrow

We find peace in the tears of today

I am bright when I relinquish my sorrow

I am keeping the demons at bay

He walked into my dreams like he belonged there

And reminded me why I am still here