Truth Hurts

When his name appears atop my phone, I'm hoping he says what I want to hear... This time....

I tell you I miss you and hate it. You say, love it. I ask why. You say, because I should. It doesn't make sense to me, so I ask for clarity. You retreat, telling me to meditate on it. Or, rather, asking me why won't I instead of you breaking it down. You simply just will not. You're strong willed in the bittersweet, turning me on and pushing me away at once. 

I'm telling you, in different words, that my mind plays tricks on me. But, you, not seeking to understand or maybe overstanding, presume you know what I need and leave me wanting. What I want to assume is that you telling me to love it means that you miss me too. 

You want me to deeply assess why I miss you? Aww, baby, Why? Why? Why? Why am I so naive?

You don't want me anymore than one wants bad credit but you charge your card sometimes for the thrill. I'm fearing that you'll soon pay the bill and be at full credit again. Only to increase your limit and buy more prime expenses. I'd be used for you only to be the false revenue in your pocket.

 I'm a fool. Again. Following the history of my ancestors; loving men unavailable for purchase, and lending to those willing to rent. No need to reupholster. Just give me what is left. I accept. My actions worry me all the more.

I love a man not available to me which isn't love at all. I desire a part of him that doesn't exist for me and he knows. I can't sleep thinking about what he is doing and who he is with but he tells me that I should love missing him. I want to think that He is a selfish, egotistical piece that plans to make no room for me... Truth is, I'm the selfish, egotistical piece that has made too much room for him. 

I believe I can change a man's desire when he has been frank and honest with me about his wants and needs for self preservation. I'm the idealist, hopeful romantic thinking that maybe one day I can wish his love true. Wondering if my deeds, talents and brown can get him to stay. Too impatient with myself to believe he is not the one and closing myself from reality because our pretend feels so damn good. 

We play....I insist that we play cuz even make believe feels just in this blurred reality. So, I allow. Still fearing the day I knock and he won't answer, not even because of someone else but simply because I was never meant to be kept. Old news. New season. 

And, he tells me to meditate. I think I aggravate him with my inquiry. He has me, upon my request, with desire minus the heart. Being she, secretly wanting his mold to stay imprinted, that I may be able to preserve, if only, a piece of him. 

Truth is, I'm more heart than anything, and it breaks me every time our eyes meet because I'm reminded that he's not looking at love. I don't feel sufficient. I want him to want me more than I want him to be okay with me wanting him, and I move in circles worrying about what will be in this commitmentless land. 

I should be able to fight. Truth is, to be with him, I chose, risking that I regress. Gullibly faithful that we may make progress. 

He tells me to love missing him and meditate on it. I try to say "forget him" until upon a touch I  "remember him", and fall back into whatever I have to to come with him again. 

Truth hurts. 

Asante

I asked you to give me the words

Give me the words to write the perfect poem

A poem that I could read and feel confident

One that I could stand and speak, beautifully 

You said, say what’s on your mind

Say everything that makes you shine

Do everything that you always do

Be everything that you…are supposed to be

 and I say thank you.

Thank you for allowing me to stand here with so much pride

To look at you with a single eye

To be able to be the poet that lives in me

To be able to be, Indy

I remember the nights on my knees

Poems and prayers of God please

Allow me to be much better

Allow me to get over writing these sad poem letters

Thought I didn’t know what to do

Then I looked up and I saw you

I looked at me and I was free

Because I knew exactly who I was supposed to be

I say, thank you

Now, speaking these words, I can stand here

So much taller   ` than I was

So much higher than them drugs

I don’t know them anymore

I am flying

Flying past doors, mountains, oceans, and moons,

I feel so good I feel like you

I see the God that is in me

I shine brightly

Everything that I do

Is another chance for them to see you

Yes, me.

Indeed, I do have to be the change I wish to see

Truth of God, it is in me

I am the substance of a dream

That is what you see

 Right?

I look at you, sistah, brother, my own self

I hear you asking for death

Looking at the floor

Thinking no more exists in you

If you want to be free

Then we can go together to thee

It won’t be easy

But please, come away with me.

And, I’ll say thank you.

Book Review #1: All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes by Maya Angelou

Going to Africa to find a deeper part of herself, Maya Angelou witnesses her soul transform into higher strength and awareness.  As a teenage parent, she raised her child by singing and acting.  She packed her son and moved with the wind with aspirations to expose him to the highest quality of life.  In Africa, Ms. Angelou holds a position in a local university to pay for her son’s education.  He begins to grow into his manhood as she, in her early thirties, experiences a desired yet unimaginable maturity. 

          Angelou meets many intellects and politicians and moves in with two other women.  Each woman is a revolutionary from America fed up with the system of oppression and discrimination.  They have experience in movements toward equality but travel abroad for the real peace and fulfillment of the mother land.

Angelou is wooed by a man of strong stature in an African tribe distant from Ghana, Maya’s primary location.  He treats Maya like a flower and ensures that she has the best of every evening that they share. After multiple interactions, he makes a proposal to Maya that will enable her to be a second wife and begin working on more children.  Though not said explicitly, the reader can imply that Angelou has desires of furthering her family, even after a fairly recent divorce.  She immediately is aware that the offer is not of her liking and humbly declines.  He persists and eventually explains his disappointment in her suspected American mentality that he assumes is keeping her from accepting his proposal.  It is determined, through her inner thinking, that though she thinks him to be an honorable, pleasant keeper, Angelou intends to live life under the side of the moon that fits her best.  The trouble was finding that place.

After Malcolm X leaves Mecca, he stops in Ghana on his way to the states.  He has a newfound peace and understanding about his position in the fight for civil rights in America.  Angelou’s colleagues arrange many events and ceremonies to honor the mobile.  She becomes disappointed when the president doesn’t agree to meet with Malcolm, and she is upset with W.E.B DuBois’ wife for not using her good relationship with the president to immediately schedule a meeting with Malcolm.  A short before Malcolm leaves, Mrs. DuBois finally meets him and is highly impressed.  The president meets with the civil rights leader and each of the men are humbled by the presence of the other.

          Before Malcolm X leaves Ghana, he has a conversation with Ms. Angelou.  He reprimands her for her ignorance and naivety.  He explains that the things that make her upset can be attributed to the fact that she is closed minded and doesn’t respect each individual’s contribution to the betterment of Africans in America.  He explains that she would be most beneficial understanding how people can be served from many facets and encourages her to go back to her home in America.

As Angelou prepares for her transition, she crosses path with elders who identify her as a lost member of their tribe.  Ancestors had been run out of this village and captured into slavery.  Only a few children were left. The refugees were taken in by a nearby village, and when they became adults, they returned to their homeland to rebuild.  The elders believed that Angelou’s characteristics stemmed from their lineage.

Under the sun, before she left Ghana, Maya Angelou found everything she needed. The desire to be accepted by one community had finally occurred, but she realized, that all along, she was only looking to accept herself.  She had found a way to blame other people for the conditions around her rather than taking the responsibility to focus on her locus of control and have faith in other’s around her.

This book gave me healing and helped me to remember that the process of growing isn’t efficient in real time. Weakness must leave the body, and that is why we have to deal with pain. To see the wisdom that Angelou gained from the community of women, politicians, intellects and local community members reminded me of that home that one feels when they are with us of African descent.  Everyone, in their own way, was moving forward with their hands out to help family along the way.  Naturally, Maya was rejected and accepted simultaneously, which is symbolic of  the bitter sweet definition of life.  You win some and you lose some, but if you gain patience, you learn that you were never missing anything at all. 

In the perfect moments, Angelou was given what she needed.  From courage to confidence, from a job to advice from a legend, Angelou grew into herself, the same way that so many of us are doing now. We have this fear of being out of control.  We want badly to live in a world where pain doesn’t exists, but what one learns from this autobiography is that in time wisdom comes and your conscious will lead you as far as you have  ever  been capable of going.  Be still and be moved.  Read the book!

Goodbye. Again.

To lie with you here is to deny myself of my heart’s true desire: to be loved

Deprived of my soul’s truth once before, I offer my condolences as I can no longer lose sight of my future intentions with you any more

Shall I die of regret or live with ease is the question upon my night’s star

From afar, I shall remember your kind words, forward thinking, gentle touch and charismatic nature

Ever will the thoughts of your crown dwindle in my mind

Upon my wishes I hope there to be another knight whose charm surpasses yours

As your winds blow, I’ve encountered wisdom from the ancestors warning me to be free of the dream that shall be interrupted abruptly by reality

To live without consciousness of what really exists undeniably relinquishes freedom of peace

For the safety of one’s predictable manner loses its value when trampled with the consequences of unwitting desire

The challenge I have, to be womanly in my deeds and commit to the actions that will fulfill this deed, is the strength that I long for

To stay in this position is to buy land that never prospers for the lack of foundation built upon its soil

Options of alternative measures come infinitely but to live beneath what one wills is to live wanting

I’d cherish this moment more in the future if by chance I am granted the serenity to accept what will be from what was always wanted

If ever I were to have an heir I’d fully expect that she not relinquish her duly cause to the inferiority of settled comfort

Though unseen in near distant there have been mountains to rise where there once were plains

Believing otherwise is to live in fear of the potential that one has to create the existence that they wish to see within the suffering of our current conditions

I challenge the jewels of which I attain to be of example to that which otherwise relates to be nothing

For if I do not embark upon this challenge with the courage of mine own, then at what point do we reign over that which is known and conquer that which was always purposed to be

It has been recorded that at moments elders crossed paths with angels, forbidding them loss of memory and wisdom gained

Yet, upon the trying of the concept, soaring, each angel has returned to its onward position

I say, to you, as I bid farewell, that I will once have known some parts of your soul

As the piece of the puzzle that has no part in making the picture imprecise, I move forward with the element in my right hand

In the palm of my influence shall you be remembered, from a far

To have known you has been the pleasure of my soul’s affections

I must go now, for to lie with you here is to deny myself of my heart’s true desire: to be loved

Black Men Live

I turn on the news to find two men talking about a new book called "Is Marriage For White People?" They ask the questionm should black women should settle for the current state of black men, since , supposedly, the black man's condition isn't ideal for marriage. This black author is asking black women to give up on finding a black man to avoid being in a bad relationship. I think the aurthor, Ralph Richard Banks, doesn't serve the God I do. I teach black men every day, because instead of giving up on black men, I breathe life into them.

A poem I wrote in honor of the black men that I will never lose faith in

"Black Men"
I went to three places and saw my men behind
Behind the cooking counter
Behind the storage unit
Behind the dumpster
Behind
My men shine
And work again to rule the land
They are the kings that gave her birth
Behind the desk, my men, they build
I hear God through my men’s cries
“I am a leader “
“I am the leader”
“My community is my mission”
“I am more than a statistic”
The princes’ calls are my peace
The bone
The beginning
My men are the revolution
Shall not they die
They are our future
Together, we conquer

Fuel

I went to get gas today. I felt like a soilder: eyes open in every direction. I was raised in a place where going to the gas station at night was something you do in groups. Alone, I arm myself in case conflict arises. On the floor of my car, I see some type of tool, along with tons of other things. I pick up the rusty weapon, and I place it in my pocket. I take my debit card out of my purse, placing the purse on the floor with my computer and the debit card firmly inside of my hand. I come from a place where you don't keep bags in your seat or your windows will get busted.

I try to use my debit card, but the machine isn't running. Running in the store, I feel silly for being so nervous. I relax as I have a friendly conversation with the cashier. He says it is supposed to get very cold tonight..(I wonder if that means that I won't have work.. In the south, when it gets too cold, we like to stay home...Or at least I do.)

I noticed a man on the side of the building. He was just standing there with no place to go. I wanted to save him. As I fueled up, the man before my eyes reminded me that I can go anywhere because I have a car with a powerful engine. I call her Honey. We speak in silence.

At the gas station, where I hold weapons tightly, I am inspired to drive.

Born: Identity

I’m not me
I is he
His actions are my reflection
I stir in his direction
If I is you
And you’s a fool
Then I’m the fool that lose
The most
I is, is who you are
From dirty clothes to busted cars
I’m the gas that consumes your ass
Ready to die
Lost: she cries.
Who am I, if I am he
Thought I would never not be a she
Until she opened herself to he
She once had identity
If she is I,
But I am you,
Then someone’s left with out a clue
Of who she is
That walks with he
A reflection of nothing. Plain. Empty.
If she can breathe
I’ll take her hand
Tell her she is more than just a man
If I am you
And you are me
Let’s hold hands
And set her free
I am you
You are me
Together forever: we.