We have the ability to blend in
to our background spaces.
Our black faces
We’d believe we were free
and act accordingly.
Relaxed inside our dark blueness,
when truly we are dramatists,
wanting purple, fuchsia, and gold
Some of us
find the diamonds underneath
the subtleness and find ways of
performing our true selves
that once held us captives.
We’d eat our cornbread,
fish and collard greens
with silver spoons, and
drink Hennessy out
of jeweled-encrusted chalices.
Keep our Jambalya recipes
in the family
and teach our babies magic
Give our elders their proper
reverence and tend to them.
’cause with their death comes
the access granted to
emerge from their shadows
adorned in silk and fleeces.
We’re taking our pleasures
that were meant to be forbidden
and making it our new livelihood.
Giving the swine back and demanding
with her father’s spirit
blood and flesh of Mama,
dark nebula with tiny planets
and starry clusters
placed in her womb.
She sashays around condensed galaxies,
a possible maker of honeyed realities,
sticky and sweetly curated.
Bronzed skin like sunlight flooding through
from the heart.
Her head hangs high,
from her mouth, the breath of life.
Her hands, balancing many things
— protector, nurturer, martyr;
untamed, unchecked, and distinctive.
In this body also lies an essence,
luberon red ocher in color,
so archaic and passed on gracefully.
A quintessential element
that sets her apart.
It’s what you witness when she
wakes up in the morning,
hair and face untouched
What you hear while she speaks her mind, unapologetically,
slick and gum popping.
What you feel when she places all of herself in your lap,
wrapping around you like an aura.
Keeping you safer than you ever thought
you had the right to be.
a peach deep,
cocoa sweet intrigue.
The friction between her thighs,
a high voltage electricity,
shocking souls into something
Freeing and also binding,
ceremonial at times,
casting pearls before her lovers.
Reigniting his sexuality with interweaving
of fucking and philosophy.
Her story will be told, but not today.
not all of us are fragile,
neither conflicted or naive.
some of us are perpetual,
shades of cool,
blooming continuously through
i felt each one just weeks before.
i know that frigidness,
between making love and a hate fuck.
both terrifying and unreasonable,
and neither one more transparent than the other.
this recent one though
was different than the others,
heavily adorned in fidelity,
i’d met my match.
he knew that damn feeling
of unsuccessful relationships just as well.
so his deflecting skills
were just as dangerous as mine,
playing defense 24/7.
a man in my own image,
who i still worship for his resourcefulness
and his willingness
to demonstrate love
when forever did not mean an eternity
be aware that I questioned life in its entirety.
i fixated on my flaws
and had it out with romance.
I became my true self
unreliable, hungry, and flammable.
this is my transcendental prelude,
a reminder to those who may have forgotten.
I am strong, deep, and unwavering.
I may not easily bend to changes,
or adherent to surprises.
I sleep on the same side of the bed every night,
and I stick to my daily rituals.
Fixated and reliable instincts,
I am tied to this world,
all on the strength of emotional stimulation.
Her body promised such sensuality. It seemed polished with a shiny wax as she laid in the dark-blue stitch of midnight. She was a priestess in her own tiny castle. A mother to all his demons and the one to keep his bed warm. She roamed the room like a lioness, purring, marking territory that was rightfully hers. A woman, so filled with catty femininity, a fiery sex kitten. That would snatch the sun from the sky and swallow it whole. Who knew she would meet her match in a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Taking on the image of man but a wild mess. By coincidence, they were both greater proofs of wildness together. They would lull each other into dreamy embrace. Just for a moment, take possession of each other until, with pleasurable amounts of begging, return their souls to one another. She would offer her mouth to him, and he would give her life in small acts. They would kiss for momentary lifetimes and fill each others’ space with excitement. Nothing was ever planned. It all was discovered. Their sex would catch the light that streamed through from the street. Beautiful pliable sex.
Eroticism became a favored religion. With each man I become exalted,
with his flesh and drinking of his blood.
Every man I ever loved, my visualization of Christ.
Descending into my fingertips, anointing me and preying over my body.
I guaranteed that I would take them all to my lips and breathe life into
them. And as they rise I’d submit to them, and feed them the fruit of my flesh.
When the sons of Him are acquainting themselves with my taste, I fall into
my ways. The black-haired heathen with thick thighs and the sweetest tongue.
I am the sinner they cling to the most. The Eve of my paradise, wasted on
wine and freed from shame. I become everything I am meant to be.
Had someone told me the journey back
to ourselves was so long, I would’ve
packed lighter. I passed up three
signs that I couldn’t read
think they were in a different language
couldn’t make out the meaning
did not know how to recall a constant sound
a roll of the tongue, the pronunciation
unbeknownst to me.
Though I am young
I’ve been brave enough to travel alone
in search of myself
in forests, rivers, and savannahs.
It’s inside of me
it lives in my heart
in my brain
in my mouth.
It is the product of my life
the baby of mine who would nourish me
keeping me from being aloof, from being hard.
Its love is a gift not to be given unwisely
given only to those who request it, need it, deserve it.
It governs my happy place from the simulation
where fears are thought over and made to be goals
and fulfillment is like mimosas runneth over.
I’m offered mercy and compassion
and judgement against me
falls on stuffed ears, because love here
for me is law.
It is the very thing that moves my feet
and sets a fire in my eyes.
Born with it so it’s been mine since the beginning
my solo act
a gift from unknown,
and the theme to everything.
How could I give it away?
As the seasons change, so does my literary tastes. For Spring, my book list consisted of a lot of magic related, romance centered, and quick reads. Along with binge watching Grace & Frankie on Netflix, entertainment for Spring was great.
- The Dream of a Common Language
- Jambalaya: The National Book of Personal Charms + Practical Rituals
- Santeria Aesthetics: In Contemporary Latin American Art
- The Way of the Superior Man: A Spiritual Guide to Mastering the Challenges of Women, Work, and Sexual Desire
- The Complete Book of Incense, Oils, and Brews
- Dark Desires: Beginning
The shy pink of a grapefruit,
the twisted twirling
of a thirsty tongue,
in the belly
and summarizes on the
I take my fruit to my mouth
and sink my teeth in
the bleeding flesh. It
sticks to my teeth,
leaving a film on my lips
one two three droplets
on my white shirt.
Setting my tiny feet in the dirt
soiled by morning rain.
The untamed blades of grass
loop around my ankles
as i dig pink toes in the earth.
Mary jane girls is playing
and a dream from lastnight
one of common language
and local color.
This is one of Sunday’s luxuries.
I’m in charge of the narrative,
the song choice and the energy.
Today i’m starting off
outside and eventually
i’ll be upstream.