I’ve been having a serious writing block for the last few months, starting things and just not finishing them has been the name of the game for a while. That, and being so close to graduation, I think is stumping any creativity within me. So, while I try and find myself, I’ll leave you with the last poem I wrote in full.
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i look at frowns the same way a newborn views smiles.
Familiar and welcoming
– never have to do too much to receive them but they come with every breath I take. I meet them like I greet the night; allow him to mount me and
remind me what my 3am feels like. smells like. tastes like,
midnight snacks that satisfy me the way the world never could. Yet,
here I am. Standing on the auction box you made in woodshop with my
hands tied with your expectations and my legs bound with your
judgment. Hair brushed with my
pride and tied with the prejudice bow you gave me on my 18th birthday.
Who’ll take this corrupt negro for $20?
She drinks and smokes and dances beyond midnight to the infectious
rhythm all our hearts make when we sin. You can
scold her for her indulgence and poison her with water you deem holy.
Going once, going
twice – sold – to the man wearing his expectations around his neck like an
expensive bowtie or
is that the noose you’ll tie around my throat for being who I am?
who are you to judge me for anything less than the
ten nine ten I deserve? We both sing the blues baby- but because mine is
acapella, not ever the right note, always the right lyrics but louder and
prouder than you in the church choir; you’re allowed to condemn me to
the two of us hum our lewd hallelujahs and drink nothing but moonshine
in the starlight but the sun only seems to tell on me. Tell
the world the secrets I showed you under my sheets when I acted
like the freak the streets make illicit. I’m explicit with my quick witted
tongue and the swerve of my hips and the glint in my eye lets you hear my
conscious as she calls me daily, asking me when I’ll be
that girl again. Lady, you know I’ll never leave behind the
murmurs that merge with the moonlight. I’m proud of the bones
that build my being. ‘cause once you break the bricks we hide behind, the
skeletons in our closets all look the same. I
plunged into love once,
twice, three times
removed me from the lifestyle I live now
followed men into the Heavenly pits of Hell where
nobody was judged. Had dinner with the devil and cosigned on my lover’s lease;
offered to pay in heart and soul when he missed a payment. Left my
mind out of the
agreement so I would have something to
write this poem with.
Let them lift up my black veil so they could kiss the real me.
Here comes the bride, but,
I never seem to fall in love anymore. I crash into it. Never on
an accident. A suicide attempt of the remainder of my heart as it
tries to heal the scars of love
slashed across my wrists,
gashed across my neck, bitten on my thighs
and punched on my arms – bruises, black in rue.
And I don’t know about you but
that is why,
ex lover of mine,
I sing the blues.
I had a conversation with an ex lover of mine the other day. He asked me to explain to him “why are you like that? Which was a wee bit odd and kinda awkward at that point because I didn’t know I was any type of way and so, I didn’t really know what to say. But, he continued to tell me -despite my trying to divert the conversation towards my love for giraffes -that I was a bitch and that I didn’t know what I wanted in my life. And that whoever hurt me in the past is making everyone else suffer and that I’d probably live a really lonely life because of my ‘ways’.
First of all. Dude. Why is it only another man that can make me this cold hearted ‘bitch’ that I apparently am? Secondly, maybe I’ve been a bitch the whole time, but you’re only just realising. Or maybe I’m like this because I’m judged everyday for decisions that I don’t necessarily think are that crazy. I know my mother judges me. I know my sister judges me. Hell, I know most of my nearest and dearest friends judge me for some of the questionable things I say or do or wear or eat. But, it’s this judgement that we all need to help us grow into adults instead of staying as kids that can get away with pretty much anything because they don’t know any better.
Oh we all know better – doesn’t stop us from doing it.
I think it’s safe to say that I’m happy with who I am now. I’m proud I’ve left who I was behind and I’m excited with who I’m going to be. I don’t need to explain myself to anybody – well, in any way other than poem form of course – but, like I say everyday, people are gonna do what they wanna do, wear what they wanna wear, be who they wanna be regardless of what the world thinks or says. Regardless of who judges and what people think is necessary.
And the sooner we all come to terms with that, the sooner we all start doing what we want, the happier this damned world will be.
Can I get an Amen?