day 15.
for lance, eugene, taray, darrin, irvon, darryl, terrance, eddie, xavier, jordan, josh, esteban, jesse, and erik
your eyes will never
be far from the mind
and headlines
filled with police reports
drive remembrances of your faces
to the forefront
of my guilty conscience.
where is the line drawn
when all are blurred?
on whose head rests
the responsibility of the future?
and when do i stop believing
i have failed you?
i count backwards in time
adjusting ages and descriptions
tracing locations on maps
to places i know you have been.
is that you, unidentified male?
were you in the hollygrove that night
or did you get stopped on chef menteur?
if i could trace the steps
your feet have walked
would i find the answers
to the questions that
haunt my sleepless nights?
would i find faint glimmers
of the smiles i can't forget?
or would i remain hopeless,
shackled to the belief
that somehow i didnt work
hard enough?
day 16.
remix to : Jimmy's Blues
Lady swayed on stage
long fingers cradling mic
as if it were
her lovers face
whispering mournful melodies
that filled the place
with the weight of her sadness
Patrons watched through whiskey glasses
twice filled and cocked back
to soften the sounds of her blows
as the
sloooooow mooooooan of the
saxophone
stirred up stories
from deep within the bowels
of their souls.
Lady sang the blues
in a white dress bathed in darkness
fillin' up her emptiness
with whole notes
to tell the whole world
she ain't gon' die 'cuz she loved him*
badooom boom bip
drumsticks slip and flip her
rhythm backwards, transfixed by
memories of how his melodies
used to hang soft 'round her hips
but the brass played on
fief being paid with passions
echoes of crescendos
rising from
deep within her belly
spillin songs from lips
of sex, success, upsets
regrets, faults, and failures
she became music
held prisoner, and he was the jailor
her beauty,
chained by his madness
blastin' like a horn
but now
the brass wings
and its winds
are liftin her
feet dancing out the rhythm
Bags on the drums, strugglin
to keep up
Slim slidin fingers over strings and
Wese ..s
pluckin, pullin and pushin her
tears streaming down cheeks
erupting in ablution
Lady becomes reborn as song
blue notes turned red like fire
burning herself up to rebirth
a new soul from her ashes
while the crowd watches
bathed in sweat from the
heat her heart is hurlin'
beatin out the syncopations
of her
purification ritual
Singin' like this song
On this night
Iz just the beginning.
*loosely from 'lady sings the blues' by billie holiday
day 17.
Lord
forgive me, for i have sinned.
took your name in vain
and replaced him with Him...
couldnt help it, you see he
made me
scream his name
intermixed with
Jesus, it was just
like communion
on Sunday morning
when he
whispered prayers in hungry ears
made church out of
twisted sheets
and pillows clenched between teeth
felt like the
second coming
and Christ, I
never realized
possession could feel so
holy.
day 18.
"New Orleans Public Schools have a dropout rate of over 70%.
Nearly 70% of State inmates lack high school diplomas.
New Orleans has the highest incarceration rate of the industrialized world."
___________
Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything.
They just cry over their condition.
But when they get angry, they bring about a change.
.Malcolm X.
and in the legoland known as suburbia
bricked houses
construct fences and install
the latest in security defenses
because
the neighborhood
'just ain't what it used to be'
-meanwhile-
on the other side of tracks
that criss-cross the heart
of urban sprawl
fresh faces don fatigues
in the daily battle with
low expectations.
a generation born
with bullseyes on backs
clings, in shackles, to a benign belief
in equality for all.
freedom is not free
when dumbed down becomes the standard
and johnny cant read
books
instead, reads between the lines
on momma's face
maps that lead empty bellies and
too-tight tennies down paths
to the left of not-so-righteousness.
"no child left behind"
leaves children
empty handed casualties
in the flawed design
of the master plan
to disguise the massa's plan*
truth is
the youth is
ill-prepared for the future
lead half-steppin
towards P.I.C.s*
instead of PhDs
and we call this
the land of the free?
systems based on hypocrisy
lead open minds to closed doors
where there are more
revolutions made
through the revolving doors
of central booking
than on the battlefields
of crowded streets at the hearts
of our cities.
while society laments the
degredation of the ages,
crying out for more cages
to lock up the ills we have created.
and where does that leave me?
with no time for tears on the face of reality
i'm teaching to transgress lines
and unlock cells
that quell the angry minds
born into submission.
the mission is clear
time to
emancipate brains from chains
of mental slavery*
to bring truth
to the notion of
complete freedom, justice and equality
by any means necessary*
because i teach to shape a better future.
what do you do?
Nearly 70% of State inmates lack high school diplomas.
New Orleans has the highest incarceration rate of the industrialized world."
___________
Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything.
They just cry over their condition.
But when they get angry, they bring about a change.
.Malcolm X.
and in the legoland known as suburbia
bricked houses
construct fences and install
the latest in security defenses
because
the neighborhood
'just ain't what it used to be'
-meanwhile-
on the other side of tracks
that criss-cross the heart
of urban sprawl
fresh faces don fatigues
in the daily battle with
low expectations.
a generation born
with bullseyes on backs
clings, in shackles, to a benign belief
in equality for all.
freedom is not free
when dumbed down becomes the standard
and johnny cant read
books
instead, reads between the lines
on momma's face
maps that lead empty bellies and
too-tight tennies down paths
to the left of not-so-righteousness.
"no child left behind"
leaves children
empty handed casualties
in the flawed design
of the master plan
to disguise the massa's plan*
truth is
the youth is
ill-prepared for the future
lead half-steppin
towards P.I.C.s*
instead of PhDs
and we call this
the land of the free?
systems based on hypocrisy
lead open minds to closed doors
where there are more
revolutions made
through the revolving doors
of central booking
than on the battlefields
of crowded streets at the hearts
of our cities.
while society laments the
degredation of the ages,
crying out for more cages
to lock up the ills we have created.
and where does that leave me?
with no time for tears on the face of reality
i'm teaching to transgress lines
and unlock cells
that quell the angry minds
born into submission.
the mission is clear
time to
emancipate brains from chains
of mental slavery*
to bring truth
to the notion of
complete freedom, justice and equality
by any means necessary*
because i teach to shape a better future.
what do you do?
*loosely my boy jeff
p.rison i.ndustrial c.omplex
loosely bob marley
totally malcom x, respectively.
day 19.
butterfly
wings fold over
heart
a flutter
hide the smile
behind shaky hands
you change me
and i'm shy
but
i hope you hear the words
unspoken
messages sent on
wings and prayers
from here to there
where you are
is
where i picture
when eyes close and
i just cant
take
this
place
day 20
if i came to you
with quiet voice
and
open hands
could you listen
to the sounds of my heart?
it beats in tune
to the
rhythm of your sleep
and rests only
when you
are silent
day 21. ehh. lack of inspiration sets in
i miss the ocean
and stretches of water
reaching far
into horizons of tomorrow
salty sea air
kissing face and
sun reflecting off surface
sparkling
like some majestic jewel
afloat in the distance
oh
how her
gentle tides lulled
like lullabies
rocking rhythms
recreating the womb
when i needed retreat
her quiet calm
soaking into skin
and smoothing insanity
into peace
i miss the ocean
on days like these
97 degrees and sunny
driving down
roads that lead to nowhere
searching for space
to dive into cool blue
and leave this place
behind
day 8
i can't believe
how naieve
i've become
gullible goldilocks
in search of a warm bed
to rest my throbbing head
aches punctuate days
and i succumb to
a need for happy endings
once again
sweet prince
i'm asleep in the tower
let my hair down for you
this is me
from the other side of the mirror
i've left you
trails of breadcrumbs
in hopes that you will
find your way home
while i waste time
in my own wonderland
queen of hearts
who cut off her own head
day 9
swallowed
pills and pride
i'm
so tired of writing you poems
holding the pen
with shaky fingers
no substitute for holding you
it gets lonely
living in notebooks
hand to mouth
feeing off scraps
of whatever is left to give
after the front of the line
has been served
seems most days
i'm ashamed of my own words
the bi-polarities
of our affairs
back and forths
like tennis
but i cant remember
whose court the ball is in
or why love is synonymous with zero
should have seen it coming
we gemini's love schizophrenically
and the four of us make for
a confusing crowd
when you never know which ace
you'll get
our disguises ever-changing
keep us locked in a world
of make believe
and i cant help but
wonder
is it as hard for you?
because i've grown weak.
and weary
of paths that dont seem to
cotton to reality
of driveways leading to
our broken home
that never really had all the pieces.
day 10.
teacher becomes student
or: you should think twice before stepping into this chaos
lessons manifest
in daily blessings of your pen
not at home
on the other side of desks
but i shall bend....
...for you
guide my fingers to paint
in colors undiscovered
as landscapes take shape across canvasses
of the heart
you are the art
i wish my novice hands could create
clay molded into monuments
of aesthetic beauty
i know not how to capture,
sufficiently,
the outline of your spine
or the curve of your neck
where my lips have long sought out shelter
please teach me
to compose melodies
that play the rhythms of your thoughts
sonatas that sing
as sweet as your whispers
oh to be the playwright
who could author
the soliloquies
i
intend to offer
when the stage becomes set
for the teacher
who wants
only to be
your student.
day 11.
today
i bring nothing.
empty handed and
heavy hearted,
poetry holds no peace tonight.
you
are insurmountable
and i'm so tired of climbing.
these walls are too high
and a cell phone
tucked between shoulder and ear
is a poor substitute
for your presence.
day 11.2
broken
hundreds of pieces
cant find words
voice
shattered
thoughts incomplete
sometimes i'm like this
feet treading
too close to edges
of graves
i dug for you
cant stop the hands
from reaching
down
i need you
in the vacuum of night
when shadows emerge
from corners
and even the silence
is deafening.
i'm not as strong
as i've been pretending.
day 12.
"I wanna be the one to make you happiest, and hurt you the most
They say the end is near, it's important that we close...
... to the most, high
Regardless of what happen on him let's rely"
spring births new awakenings
nurtured by summers heat
and i must confess
37 reasons
have multiplied
times infinity.
be still now.
let me hold the mirror
and i'll show you
reflections of the divinity
i've come to know as truth
...all i want is you...
your words
when nightmares shake my sleep
your smile
(yes, your smile!)
you try to keep
hidden... let it go
don't you know
you're beautiful?
like the way my head
fits softly in the
space between your neck
and shoulders
-if i was bolder-
i'd tell you this
my darling
titles constrict
books still unwritten
and my words are never-ending
i cant promise you perfection
but rather the bending
of time
thrown backwards
like trains off tracks
rewind
to the beginning
i remember
city lights
in your eyes
still see them twinkling
cant stop thinking
dont know here from there
or the road that connects the two
but i promise
i wouldnt be wasting my time
if i spent it getting lost
with you.
*common
day 13
never one
to play the hand dealt,
i traded up
for uncertainty.
rearranged suits,
made due
with what was given.
upped the ante and
spread cards on the table.
and in the end,
the house folds
in silence.
day 14
and he leaves me with dreams...
we blend
into
kaleidoscope sunrises...
broken pieces combined
with the stroke of the master's brush
mottled greys turned
red and fiery
as i paint you
passion's tongue strokes
upon your canvass
hands reaching
to search the ends
of skins' beginnings
if time could slow
i'd pause the seconds
and exist in this
suspended moment of bliss
your fingers
running gently through my hair
drifting downwards
to lace around the neck
trembling hands
wrapped 'round your legs
trapping heat
within the spaces where
thighs meet
complete
like kaleidoscope sunrises...
broken pieces
melting into tapestries
of greater dreams
to come
1. cheshire twin
"Well, when one's lost, I suppose it's good advice to stay where you are until someone finds you.
But who'd ever think to look for me here?"*
But who'd ever think to look for me here?"*
looking glasses
of cracked reflections
divided
civil war psyche
two faces, one heart*
lost in
some sort of struggle
to make sense of
days not so common.
she bleeds
from wounds criss-crossing skeletons bones
like train tracks leading nowhere
but right back to the beginning
circular living
when the past is forever the future
*lewis carroll and celphemployed, respectively
day 2
he's like a hip hop song, ya know
he arrived
like answered prayers
upon the setting of the sun
had me dizzy, spinnin, thinkin he just might be the...
forgive me, for at times i get ahead of myself
but i swear it felt
like i knew him already
he brought the funk
i made the noise
and we dissolved into
fits of laughter
until hours after when i
finally caught my breath
step back to analyze
size him up
checked checklists
reckless with the smile
his style...
so addictive
yet innocent
and its
5am and shooooot we aint even kissed yet
but sleep is furthest from my mind
pushing back the night
for a few more seconds of his
time he makes me weak (like, in the knees)
you see
he reminds me of home
and good music on warm summer days
"instinctive travels" traveling on air waves
barbeques on sundays
sweatin in the shade
so hip i cant help but
hop to his rhythm
he's like '93 (to infinity yall)
rewinding me backwards to
passin notes in classes
place the X next to yes
this crush is
inevitable
and excuse me, for sometimes i get ahead of myself
but i equate him with an oasis and
but but but wait it gets....
better. not watered down but rather
he's just like water for
parched lips in desert sands
got his songs on loop
understand
its deep when i say he makes me wanna...
nevermind.
leave thoughts and sentences unfinished
because if he read it, he'd get it
throw the track in, remix it, and spread it
like wings to make us fly high
stepped into his world
and became enraptured by his stature
saw ever after in his eyes
and the earth on his shoulders
had me gearing up for this
fantastic voyage (volume 1, and you know this)
ready to let
tables turn and
beats drop while hearts soar
takin all he's got while he steady asks
'do you want more?!!!??!'
some lines mixed up and inspired by (though not word for word) the following:
swv, tribe, the roots, souls of mischief, common, sticky fingaz, salt n pepa, blondie, slum
day 2
asiago bread
devoured by hungry mouths
we eat more than
our lunches
in noontime outings
when stolen moments
satisfy
our cravings
for sustenance
day 3
heard your voice tonight
over airwaves
donald byrd in the background
remixed, yet,
so fitting
love has come around
indeed it
feels so good to me
and brief glimpses
into worlds i have never been
have me tuned in
to frequencies
turned on by
idiosyncrasies
in your speech
and like the good listener
i dial the digits
hoping to be the
winning call.
thanks for the shoutouts.
.. --> / message -->.. --> controls -->heard your voice tonight
over airwaves
donald byrd in the background
remixed, yet,
so fitting
love has come around
indeed it
feels so good to me
and brief glimpses
into worlds i have never been
have me tuned in
to frequencies
turned on by
idiosyncrasies
in your speech
and like the good listener
i dial the digits
hoping to be the
winning call.
thanks for the shoutouts.
day 4.
truth is
i'll never be the beauty queen
magazine spread model type
plastered on tv screens
and billboards
tacked behind doors
in adolescent bedrooms
you know, the type
little girls want to look like
truth is
my hips are a little too wide
ass, a little too soft
never a fan of make up
when its on, its still a little bit off
my hair's a little too thick
the ends a little too split
late nights stamp the eyes with circles
too dark for concealer to fix
truth is
i'm not usually the type
to worry much about appearances
but stones and sticks
hold no threat when words pack the punch
and sometimes i forget that just a little too much
will just never be enough.
thank you for reminding me.
.. --> / message -->.. --> controls --> truth is
i'll never be the beauty queen
magazine spread model type
plastered on tv screens
and billboards
tacked behind doors
in adolescent bedrooms
you know, the type
little girls want to look like
truth is
my hips are a little too wide
ass, a little too soft
never a fan of make up
when its on, its still a little bit off
my hair's a little too thick
the ends a little too split
late nights stamp the eyes with circles
too dark for concealer to fix
truth is
i'm not usually the type
to worry much about appearances
but stones and sticks
hold no threat when words pack the punch
and sometimes i forget that just a little too much
will just never be enough.
thank you for reminding me.
day 5.
stop
remembering
how it was
when he...
...its just
that i
can't help but wish
he was...
...here will always
be so far from...
...there are
stories left to be...
...read his thoughts like
forget-me-
...knots
in my throat
leave words un-
spoken
dis-
join
-ted
meshed together
like a patchwork quilt
of passive aggression
my cloth
not cut out for this
new definition
of cut ties
and i try
but
i'm clumsy
inevitably
keep trippin
dont need this
can't help it
goddamn it.
im such a fuckin mess.
day 6
a broken moon
mocks sentiments
in the silence of midnight.
substance hidden in shadows
phases on irregular cycles-
i have eclipsed myself.
craters dot the surface
of cold landscapes....
echoes of
collisions
that have left me
riddled with wounds
the light,
only a reflection.
and when the sun is hidden
it all succumbs
to dark.
day 7
you
press up against my skin
like heat
summer humidity
stifling breath,
oppressive.
leaving every inch
sticky
oozing sweat
i feel you in my pores
man of fire and brimstone
i quake for you
like the great Iztaccihuatl
lava singeing veins
that snake beneath the surface
warning:
contents under pressure.
eruption, inevitable.
- i be miss.abi
- reppin houston, United States
- the full info
