Are You?

cumulus clouds cumulate beneath the surface

and threaten to rain their contents down my cheeks at the first 

sign of another front

like pretending i don't see rainbows in the irises of all mankind

it's humid

i feel hot

and my skin is sticking to nothing but dew drops in the uncertainty 

of each morning

so are you the shoulder assigned to me?

to provide a break in this overcast?

the shoulder strong enough to lean me towards the sun in my darkest hours?

no offense

i don't need you to complete me

but i would love for you to be here to amount to something

with me

to help signal the world

our parents

our children

that it's going to be okay

because look at us

as one

in a world divided by fear 

weathering every storm

together

frustrated within the eye of each tornado

yet thriving within its calm as we're lifted through torrential downpours

  

indexed so far inside the Richter scale that the magnitude of our ups and downs don't register

transformation ethereal

so beautiful, the destruction of worldly walls and faulty foundation

as welcome in our home as sunrise blessing earth with enough fruit 

to nourish nations

are you the seed?

cultivated specifically for my winter barren land ready to give of itself?

are you him?

my snooze button?

providing me with just a few minutes to not be awake?

my alarm clock?

set to break this fast when my Father says I'm ready?

are you him?

so rooted in God that you're able to rejoice when you uncover my well of tears?

because you understand why I've collected them

because you possess The Light to see preservation of love at the bottom of this salty pool

because

you see the opportunity to drink of God's enhancing power and 

remain eternally thirsty 

for His plan

for us

are you him?

the man created to bathe in my testimony?

afraid but ready

and willing

to make yours just as available to me?

are you

him?

Un-titled

in the quiet between 3 and 4am i direct my thoughts to you

i

stretch my lungs with prayers for you to be

then i 

fill my belly with pressing passion like singers do

hoping to move the stillness with a sound i haven't been blessed to know

yet

but i expel nothing but air

still

hot and empty

ahead of the time and forging the signature

you want a title?

well there isn't a hook

no rhythm

no bridge to connect us

we still exist in the light tap of the "next" button

between songs fading into one another 

we transition within the breaks

between the words

in that small pause of breath before the big note

right there

there we are

and it throws off my two-step

because i'm listening without any anticipation of moving up or down the scale

i'm anxious to just hear

it

to close my eyes and experience

it

the culmination of waiting

at full volume

live and so alive

ready to belt out lyrics not yet written

on a page unturned

ready to just know the words

on or off-key

Hello

i see you 
sitting on my favorite bench by the water where i wrote about you for the first time

you're watching me

delighting in me as i stand at the edge of earth
my skirt billowing around me in time with the ripples of the river

the wind faithfully carrying its tune throughout creation

i see you

pushing the cart for me at the grocery store

patiently waiting as i try to decide between grape jam or peach preserves 

laughing to yourself because you know which one i'll choose

but humoring me anyway because you think my indecisiveness is cute

i see you

reflexively extending your right arm to protect me as a car cuts you 

off in traffic

both of us cursing the driver in unison

then just as quickly 
without missing a note

we're right back to singing the songs fueling our journey together

i see you

strolling next to me as we take a long walk to no place in particular

i see you

teaching me how to catch fireflies in the night just to show me how beautiful their light is

i see you

joining me to play in the rain just because i think it'd be fun

i see you

chilling on my steps talking about everything under the summer sun

i see you

in the little things

in the seemingly insignificant moments

when i am alone experiencing life in its purest form

i can see you

with me

You Are Not Alone

you are

that thing that goes bump in the night 

that childlike fear of a monster beneath my bed

i want to peek but the cover keeps me safe

i dare not speak your name in the mirror even once

for i trust not that you'll come

and i don't want to be disappointed

again

because, you see

im not afraid of your appearance

not afraid of your darkness

what im afraid of is stumbling alone through the places where the world wants me to be afraid, without your protection

again

did you know...

from the moment i took my first breath and hungrily latched onto my mother's breast, i knew?

i knew there was another hand that should've been holding me

a familiar hand, rough and calloused from labor 
yet gentle and soft as soon as it touched me

but that hand never proved faithful

not once

not twice

instead
your hands forgot me

neglected the life that God made specifically for them to tend

your hands have been so used and abused in this world 
that they now turn to use and abuse me

to use and abuse us

your women and your children

and we

we have grown accustomed to your absence 
and familiar with the pain that accompanies your presence

we expect it

we've accepted it

but i think you should know 
we relinquish hope half heartedly

at night we still get down on our black knees in our broken homes and pray for your return

and we try our best to fill your shoes because we still don't want to throw them away

don't you see?

we continue to try to fill your man-of-God-shaped void in our lives with strength not of our own 

and we keep trying to fill ourselves with cocktails of escape we know will only suffice 'til morning

because we refuse to give up on you

we are granted limited time and space to fully be women

and our children

our dear children

they don't feel safe enough to just be

children

we are weary, burnt out, frustrated, and tired in places only He can renew because it is not our place to be men

but i'm not mad at you, brother

not anymore

that would be selfish

and my desire for you doesn't scare easily

i know you are not the enemy

my passion for you to thrive within your destiny manifested in sound mind, body, and spirit stretches far beyond anything you can do to me

some may call me crazy but

every kindred filament in my body crafted by the hands of God

is instinctively reaching out to reconnect 
with you

our oneness is undoubtedly necessary and

the fervor of the pull intensifies each time i feel you pushing

i am a part of you

the ways you hurt me only draw me closer

as i am healing

as i am growing

as i am coming into my divine purpose as a woman

i am beginning to understand you

striving to

not take it personally when you take your frustrations out on me

hurt people will hurt people

and i see you

in a cliché of truth that still fights to consume me, i recognize 
you

you are hurting

and i want to know why

Black man
why are you hurting?

Time

it's amazing to me how a person you barely know can unconsciously effect you in ways that stick with your heart long after the thought has passed. to pick up the phone and be confronted with a voice that, at just the right time, emanates an energy for you that you didn't even know you needed is surreal. you think about him at a frequency that can be detected by satellites in orbit with the moon. your soul echoes messages over the air for his to come hither, and it does. your silent calls vibrate across many bounds, and he always picks up. as certain as the tangibility of his tenor, you are certain his existence oscillating with yours in a strange familiarity is no coincidence. so you dare not interfere with time traveling, folding into itself to make way for two souls to someday strike midnight together.

some would call a river dirty because it's brown, ugly because it's not blue. but a river is brown because it is supposed to be. it doesn't alter its appearance just because someone doesn't like the way it looks. THAT is beauty. THAT is confidence. there's something to be said about the way a river moves, rises, and falls whether we like it or not. rivers need no validation, like much of nature. the trees, the waters, the birds, the sea and the land animals, they were all created before we were. so, who are we to scrutinize them for living out their purposes? who are we to try to make nature appease us? we can learn a lot from the way nature behaves. or are we envious because we aren't equally as sure of ourselves?

Genesis

this journey through transformative creation of self, i wouldn't trade for any wage of this world. i am a piece of work, a piece of artwork painstakingly painted with each inspiration i'm gifted. dark hues that once pictured my blues have been renewed with vibrant yellows that sing songs of canaries. harsh lines have been subdued softer with a light that blends them out of density and into the texture of muddied misdirection, muting misappropriated passion. and as this picture comes together, i am blessed with moments of clarity to stand back and appreciate with all of my senses the many aspects of me. i am not of one matter of substance. i am not a centrally-focused, picture perfect portrayal. i am not scaled to size nor am i one-dimensional; i'm not even confined by the limits of matting or frame. but that's what makes the crafting of each soul unique. almost everything you can think of has been thrown at MY canvas, yet here i am hanging on. and i have the audacity to be leveled too, bold, a colorful interpretive dance of organized chaos seasoned in the middle of the night while everyone is sleeping. balanced by the hands of God by morning.

Blinking Cursor

it's the hardest thing to write about myself

to inspire and to motivate my

self

how can i be the muse to my own song?

pacing patiently i pull apart parts of myself, searching for stanzas

but i come up blank

without a "someone" to relate my rhymes to

without a "no one" to narrate hope for

with the spotlight pointed at just
me

my voice becomes a whisper

my soprano a deafening pitch of cheesy similes 
and forced metaphors

i'm discovering who i am

and i'm struggling

to write about it

Too Much

pieces of me far beneath the surface cling to your words 
like long lost friends

words you scribble on scraps of paper penned with my unfinished poetry

influencing perspectives deep within the recesses of my subconsciousness

without my permission

punctuating

accenting

completing

but

you're a stranger to me

a memory at most

a trivial trace of time

so why do your words loop and playback like a catchy tune i hum without notice?

how is your signature inscribed on my mind so vividly without my orchestration?

i don't even know what your handwriting looks like

like, how do you dot your i's?

before finishing a thought, do you take the time to 
cross your t's?

why does your silence resonate so loudly with my inability 

to sit quietly?

all of this supersedes sensibility

committing suicide to my pride like this

i'm too proud for this 

but there's something about you 

something about you that screams, "don't give up"

i'm just not sure if my growth is willing to stunt with a reprise

Be

i want to be

like the tree that grows through concrete

like the grass that grows through tar

like the flowers that bloom from seeds planted by hands 

never seen, i want to be

sustained by perennial purpose

and nourished with time and possibility

shooting through the earth in response to each season

able to let go of my petals with faith that the beauty 

of my remains will plant seeds of their own

bearing the fruit of lessons learned 

lessons to be shared with the souls that take the time to taste nature 

with their toes and bathe in the scent of creation i want to be

alive without worrying that i'm living 

unafraid as my foundation settles and shifts with tectonic plates 

creating cracks in my surface

unafraid solely because i'm too busy being grateful that the earth 

is still breathing

the pressure from each inhale stretching my imperfections

wider

longer 

deeper 

an interweb of connections spanning my core

they are not character flaws that need to be suffocated 

with dead matter

these cracks are evidence of movement

promises of change, fulfilled

space 

created for more life to grow right in the middle of what i 

think i already know

just like the tree that spurts through concrete

and the grass that emerges through tar

and the flowers that blossom from seeds planted by hands never seen

all reminding me that i can just

be

There.

i just handed over some of my darkest poetry 
to a man i hardly know

i'm willingly sharing parts of my old soul

with a stranger

completely transparent effects of my past

pictured in focus for him to see for himself just 
how much i've developed

what he sees when he looks at me now took time

only from the darkest of rooms was i able to emerge so beautifully

i'm not ashamed of the process, so no way can i hide it

but this still makes me anxious

sitting here trying to read his face as he reads

me

the deal with my heart laid right out there

vulnerability tangible

causing the table to tremble

sorry

i shake my leg when i'm nervous

but don't mind me

keep reading

i'm not afraid

Dear, Black Woman.

Black woman.

i want to write a piece for you

but how can i?

how can i write about you with words humanly comprehensible?

love can't be explained entirely

and neither can you, Black woman.

you are love

simply and explicitly

you

are

love

polemic precedes your birth

you're not chanced to survive

but you defy the world and do so anyway

fear that is not your own precludes your ability to be whole

but you rebel against the system and find yourself anyway

enduring

much like love

Black woman.

a mother to many

giving

nurturing

protecting

life

innately in tune with your assignment

you know only you can serve justice to your role, Black woman.

you are strength manifested in muted earth tones

powerfully understated

quiet resilience resonates in the way your hair breaks the law, in 
the way you remain standing as you unabashedly bear your cross

while juggling the crosses of others

nothing about your existence can be policed

adversity is your comfort food, Black woman.

know who you are
know you are called

created to be alive, you fear, yet you do it anyway

whatever "it" is that day

because you do it all 

with grace so amazing

Black woman.

i see you

i appreciate you

i love you

i am you, 

Black woman.

One Saturday Morning

we forget everything but each other

smoke signals yelling, "GET A ROOM!"

startled

we throw our heads back and laugh

because we burnt the bacon 
again

every Saturday we burn the bacon

forcing us to open the windows and share the fire we started 

with the world

saturday morning

oh, consciousness 

i do not wish to join thee

i am tucked into this dream that smells like the man i love

the scent of the man who knew 

with his entire soul

he found a good thing when he found me...

WAKE UP!

right on time the alarm clock blares

a smile unauthorized opens my eyes 

'cause in this haze of wakefulness 

i realize it's Saturday morning

and every Saturday morning 

i awaken to bacon

the aroma sticking to my dreams

and turn to greet your empty pillow without fear

because you vowed to never leave

and i believe you

'til death do us part you'll be here

present

available

and cooking up the sweetest vision for each day

you greet me with a kiss as savory as your grits

consistency whispering, "good morning, my love."

i cling to your Blackness in an attempt catch my breath
but that never works 

you're so 

damn 

beautiful

and i'm so grateful you were made for me to love so fiercely

i don't want to let go and you never make me

instead you embrace me 

because you don't want to let go either

so we just stand here transferring energy in this kitchen

its power intoxicating