Next month is National Poetry Month, and I will be celebrating by posting at least 1-3 poems per day in an attempt to repair my abysmal current posting schedule. Xo
Pyromaniac
Stability produces sanity but drains creativity.
I long for the tainted turmoil of relationships past,
We were fire and fire and I burnt out.
The all-consuming chemical, my love for you
combusted when I tasted the flavour of your lips
n felt the linger of your touch tantalize my skin
sending shockwaves of heat through my bloodstream.
A drug coursing through my veins,
I remain intoxicated.
Self-love abated by addiction –
for my drug of choice.
Flames bured wildly in my being ,
emaciating all of what I thought I knew.
Tearing down the walls of my heart,
scorching muschles, nothing left but tar.
Rebuilt myself with the ashes of our love,
Strangely stronger than before.
No longer comfortabe in my own home.
I seek the warmth of your being
unseeing fear and consciousness
flying closer to my Sun
unafriaid.
Morning Meditation.
Last week I started doing sun salutations again as an incentive to get out of bed once the alarm goes off in the morning without the added pressure to leave the threshold of my bedroom. Yoga helps ease the transition between my (usually) euphoric dream state, and the stressful environment of my reality. I revel in a moment of complete tranquility to set my intention for the day.
This morning I was considering the beliefs of two of my closest friends. One of them is an atheist & another, a pious Christian. Yet, they both receive the same level of comfort from their own knowledge of God. I listened to my friend cry their heart out, and then find solace in a biblical scripture the following morning. The physical remains of the night before lie strewn in the Kleenex across the bedroom floor, but all emotional turmoil had dissipated. Their identity and understanding of the universe are ground in that scripture.
I’ve listened to my other friend express their knowledge of the formation of Earth and how human life came to be. Their solace lies in knowing the true origins of life and being brash enough to accept it in the face of disbelief. Their worth wound around complex hypothesis. Perhaps, the universe expresses God as we wish to accept it to be used as a vessel for attaining peace.
An Ode to the Black Woman
Melanin created in the pineal gland;
affirms your place in the universe.
The same molecules within the Earth are inside you,
Black woman, your sameness is ingrained!
Your blood runs, runs
like rivers through mountains,
full of strength.
Your tears, the torrential outpour of your soul.
The darkness of the night in your eyes.
The breaths of a Goddess,
the whispers of the wind throughout the night sky.
Sun kisses your skin in the morn’,
filling you with light, positive energy & allowing you to grow,
Elevate to higher levels of consciousness,
Til’ you return unto the Earth;
for out of it were you taken,
This planet is your eternal home.
Black woman, you are nature personified.
Grave Optimism
There is a beauty in letting go of toxic people, vibes and, energy
A catharsis in freeing yourself from the gnashes of their fangs
Piercing into the peace of your soul
Past the flesh, a deeper destruction
Blood leaking out of every orifice
til you’re nothin more than skin & bones
Yes. There’s a peace in letting that go.
Because the body will heal, the soul will repair,
The hurt will no longer be there
And you will grow from the energy they’ve sown
But their toxins poison them !
For My Grandmother
Your freckles mirror spots in time.
Growing up I called them dots
Unsure of their meaning, seemingly innocuous
But being older I see the same dots on me
Tickling my skin, imagination
Wonders of where they began.
Whenever we stand side by side I see myself in you
In the dots
I see my grandma, her warts, her spots.
You try to hide warts with make up that’s dark.
A cheetah without spots is a mere cat
You without your identifiers, undone.
Lost is our familial lineage
The unique identity in one mark.
Warts grow, expand,
unplanned.
They attributed Edith May’s to cancer
She says; “my God made me this way”
Warts maturing as the mind does
As the heart grows
As do your wings
angel.
For the writers
This has been with me practically from square one, and I wanted others to see it.
