Father's DAY

It's not usually this intense. The feelings. The anger. It's not usually this obvious.
On a regular day the anger lies beneath the surface, beneath the smile, deep in the heart. Unapparent to the naked eye. I guess being in this close proximity to the source for the first time in a long time has stirred the pot. The barely tamed beast that is my emotions.
Father's Day.
A day to celebrate and venerate the men that gives pieces of themselves to the lives of their offspring. I wrote once of Sunday's and Egyptian musk. How no matter how much time passes, both will always remind me of you, my father. A Jamaican man with a quick smile, charisma and a bop that no one can match. Sunday's because that was the only day you would pick us up when we were little, even though we lived right around the corner. Egyptian musk because it is your favorite scent. Because it is mine.

I won't pretend that I'm fine. In fact, if I were fine I wouldn't be so angry. Or so aware of it. But this rage that I feel is so close, so real, and the culprit is a phonecall away. The only reason that I am still cordial towards my father is so that I can still have a somewhat healthy relationship with the rest of my family. There are so many things that have gone unsaid that need to be said. There are so many changes that will never be made. And what does that leave me? Angry. Angry and suppressing it. Thus, I have no way to truly deal with it, except for occasional rants, and a blog post or two.

The mark that a father, and his negligence can leave on a child is a very real thing. The pain that this mark will cause knows no bounds. I am a beautiful mess. I have trust and connection issues. I often dismiss people and have a very negative perspective on how they will behave. I put nothing past anyone, and expect very little from most. I am a warrior, I am strong, but I bear battle scars that no one can see. And those, quite frankly, are the hardest one's to hide.

Father's Day, to me, is like an anniversary after you are divorced. Nothing more than a reminder of what has failed. I can honestly say that all I feel towards you is negative. I would rather have you gone than have another pollutant in my life. So I guess its just a matter of time before I rid myself of you entirely.

Happy Father's DAY

Because I still dream about you....

I said last time was the last time I would write about you. I said, "fuck it, everybody plays the fool sometimes." I told myself that I was okay with what you did because I have no choice but to be. But the feelings linger. The memories linger. I think of you on train rides and it hurts. Even now.
The reality is that someone had to get hurt. I just don't think I'm okay with it being me. You used me to fill a space that she had left empty. I feel abandoned and lied to. And no I don't want you back because in all honesty I know you have what you want and I am genuinely happy for you. But what remains, these feelings, what am I supposed to do with them? They were created out of pregnant moments and flawed smiles. We spent time together and made memories. We shared laughs and sweetheart, despite my best efforts those don't just go away.
You have moved on as though nothing ever happened. You and her are back together, or at least on the way there and happy. As though she never hurt you, as though it never mattered how hard that first month was. Before I arrived and at least provided a distraction from the feeling of love scorned. I was temporary, baby, and I knew that even then, even as we lay that you loved her. It was my responsibility to protect myself and leave, being that I knew that. I just could not bring myself to leave you alone, as she had. I did not think you deserved that twice. To lose what you could have over something you had already lost just seemed so unfair. So I stayed, and disregarded the detour signs, and tried not to demand more than you could give. I tried to be realistic and pragmatic and keep my hopes on the ground. I knew what it was.
But somewhere along the line I forgot that it was temporary. I forgot it was just a game, and I started playing for keeps. And thats when the signals got crossed. And I don't harbor no malice, I understand that going back to what you knew, what you loved, what made you happy was what you needed to do, for you. Thats what matters in this grand fuckfest, doing whats right for you.You needed to explore that,and I'm glad you found it still there but truly, my dear, what am I supposed to do with these feelings? What now? Should they dissipate? Should I forget you like you seem to have forgotten me?
I guess the reality of all this is that we live and we learn.It's that I should have left it alone when I realized, when I saw her conversations and knew everything was not done being said; when I saw your barely certain smile and knew the shape of things to come. You lied to me, many times, to keep what we had afloat even as you built your escape. And I stayed aboard cus watching you sink by yourself just wasn't in my heart. And darling you did make the wreckage comfortable. And now look at me. A wreck myself, pretending I don't feel those sharp pangs when I see you mention her. I'm not even extended the pleasantry of your voice these days. I should have left you alone. I should not even speak of you until I have found something to do with these feelings. But baby I still dream of you, flaws and all....and I just wonder what I'm supposed to do now.

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.