Tongue Kiss a Stranger

Have you ever tongue kissed a stranger?
parted your lips
and gently slipped private letters
into their subconscious
to where they can't be reached without a key.
have you stolen a staccato breath
so that they know
how it feels when you're running on a sentence
and you don't want it to end,
mess up the rhythm,
or you simply can't remember
what you wrote after aaannnnddd...
have you painted their mouth with your pen.
drew hieroglyphics on their cheeks
to be discovered by the next memory;
noted that they taste like
strawberry preserves without the seeds.
I do this regularly
tongue kiss strangers
and with a mic and a stand I might
kiss you too.
c'mon, it's just a little wordplay

Speaker

I don’t feel like writing tonight
But this vomit needs to vacate my system
Because the acid is burning my esophagus
Making it hard to swallow
So I’ll spit
Or rather let this volcano erupt
Like its girlfriend wants it to be celibate
but it can’t restrain its lust
Spewing black lava over dead trees
Consuming all of the white
But none of the lines
None of the sweet steam after
a May rain
Or the pucker face made
After eating sour candies
No, those are for me.
The book of my mind that my heart recites
With every I
That pumps out of my arteries
But it doesn’t burn
it blazes
Searing whatever happens
When the moon is lit into my skin
Leaving brail wrapped around my limbs
To be read only by the blind
Who would rather hear it on a mic
Than see it in real time
This is how I wrinkle my sheets
My waste basket is full of these
almost comings
I’m pro-creation
So sometimes I try to seduce metaphors
With my kiss
I tempt them with my tongue on accident
Thinking I’m rhyming internally
when in all actuality
I’m speaking out loud
I don’t need a speaker
I am one
I speak her, I speak him, I speak them
Through God’s fist
Pounding on your door
At 5 in the morning
Just hoping, you’ll listen.

Flying Low

Trees drink heavily
while the naive night falls
with nothing to catch it
my bones are soaked
skin is slipping off
flat on my belly
hands reaching for the wind
to hold them
they yell at me
come down from there
but I never left
I'm right here, ear to soil
listening to a black seed rise
his mother calls his name
as she will many times with no reply,
with no reply
his name tries to walk away
but the sun picks him up
suspended, we spin
until it pours
in spite of predictions of a
clear Friday afternoon
from a man that is usually wrong,
but inevitably trusted
and no sooner do I land,
I'm looking out the window
to fly again.

Pretty for a Black Girl

Unless your name is Ebony
Your momma lied to you
Your name is tar candy
You will swallow it when necessary
And spit it out
When necessary
You will check it on white forms
That only recognize
Three other colors besides yours
You will be an African violet
With roots unseen
buried deep beneath American history
your full lips and hips
Will be beautiful on everyone but you
You be will called a bitch, and a ho
By your brothers
In melody
But you will dance anyway
You will be covered in
A chocolate, caramel, toffee blend
that men consume through videos
You will be crayon colors
high yellow
and red boned
labels you will try to rip off
And place on others
You will wear barrettes and braids
And headscarves at night
You will fight and be called angry
be calm, and be called angry
you will be Christian
but ignorant of any other faith
and you will not know change
except as his token
but what you will be
is not what you are
you are Angela, Correta, Nikki,
Billie and Rosa
descendants of Cleopatra
gift wrapped in golden skin
that have been burdened with royalty
and beaten to bow
and still
with straightened spine
and tarnished crown,
you march.

Prepare Your Eyes and Ears

Everyone is doing it, and I am a sucker for peer pressure (I listened to N'Sync, so yea). So here I am. Writing to myself, to my friends (who I will harass to read this), and whoever stumbles upon my page by accident. This is me, in a lot of words.