That sudden urge to sit on the other man’s lap and color in the black and white flowers on the page.
Robbing the one next to you of your dreams when you are under the covers.
Stray thoughts lead to sprouted fantasies.
Far from the nightclubs with whiskey jars, it is cloaked in ordinary urges, lust is more like a pounding lie that everything will be different when you meet the real one.
That golden man will love you more.
He will be different. You will be different with him.
But there is no escape route with lust.
It is a dead end with two broken people and a lie.
Soul is not looking up words in dictionaries, but enjoying the story as told,
Because soul is beyond words.
They are buttered soul biscuits that you can’t touch, but can only taste.
It is a vibration only audible to Heaven and newborns.
Soul isn’t meant to be seen through a magnifying glass. It isn’t meant to be analyzed by a close reading. It is only known by metaphors and felt by unseen forces that brush your cheek at midnight.
One day, maybe I will see him again.
Maybe in a café, sitting with friends.
Maybe the season of grief will be over.
Maybe he will have faked his death.
Maybe I will be on my way to a concert.
Maybe so will he.
Maybe we will meet outside the concert hall.
Just maybe we will talk and he will be fine.
Spent all day in bed.
Feeling sick; sniffles, fever.
Thanks for the good thoughts.
Sick as a doggy.
Winter time has brought the blues.
Too tired to write you.
Shared molten cake.
A special Valentine’s Day.
Not for me, oh well.
It is a puffing up, a gut tucking red hot personality.
A decision to forgo being authentic.
It is that place in limbo where it is a continual plum rain,
Not wanting to humble yourself asking for an umbrella.
Dying in a monsoon, and you sit quietly with water up to your knees
Because you are too proud to ask for help.
It is a clown mirror of vanity that sees oneself distorted.
Pride is the ugliest dog in the show.
I wonder what the weather is like in Limbo.
Is it forever winter there? Or is it a continual season of Plum rains?
Do they give out coats and scarves for tender souls? Can the Limboites visit us in disguise?
My imaginary boyfriend would have brought the sunshine with him to these parts if he were alive.
But now, I will never hear his stories.
I don’t know why I miss him.
I did not really know him in a typical sense. He was scared to come into my life, but he always laid there on the fringes with an open invitation.
In life, he had more friends than me, a better job, and a nicer family.
Was it the worst of the seven deadly sins, that gut-tucked monster pride?
Perhaps it was mere hopelessness that led him to Limbo.
I hope to see him again when the weather down here is better.
I took the new Beyoncé song, and tried to reimagine it with more political lyrics that matched the video. I have never written a song before, so there is no chorus. It is a work in progress.
Line up in formation.
Black brothers aren’t dying in our imagination.
Dot the i’s, Cross the t’s,
Can I get a hell ya, please.
Let’s do this shit together.
Stand up for each other.
We slay for one another.
Line up in formation.
We are His creation.
Yeah, we slaying it. We slaying it.
All lined up to fight the good fight.
You like my form, I like the -ation.
Can I get a hell ya, for the nation.
I used the rhymes in Hotline Bling by Drake to create a new poem.
It was a lot of fun, but I like Drake’s song better. It was an assignment for my poetry class.
You used to call me on my
You used to, you used to
We used to have a kitchen phone.
The kids could get entangled in the cord of love.
We could talk for hours on the phone.
Calling friends and family over the lines of love.
There was dinner time and talk that didn’t mention bling.
There was this thing.
Called integrity and defying the bling.
There was this thing
Has a reputation for crime now.
People are left out.
Mothers take opoids because their lives are stressed out.
The grime of the city, has started wearing me out more.
Now there is grinding on the dance floor.
The likes of twerking I’ve never seen before.
We are not talking at parties but looking at our cell phone.
Children acting out because they need our love.
We hear the bad news of death on our cell phone.
Late at night we all need love.