You are an irresistible lover

I can't help,

but call your name

You drive me crazy

You drive me wild

I am a rose in a bush

And you my gardener

Oh, how I love

being your delicate flower

I sway in the breeze

While you sing your song

Under the blinding sun

I don't know if I want to try again

all my thoughts

no all my feelings

no all of me, is a tangled mess

And I lack the words to unlock a cage I put myself in.

I can't trust them

I can't trust Him

Hell, I can't trust me

I don't know if I want to try again

I'm scared

I'm tired

I'm bruised, battered, and beaten

Spring stabbed me in the back

Summer came searching for blood

Autumn took what was left of my heart

and Winter left me for dead

I don't know if I want to try again

I don't know if i want to write again

Leaning not upon my sins,

but upon the righteous path

It is there i find Your glory

and with Equal measure

i too profess Thy Name

You are the rose, that grows in concrete

The corner stone, that the builder refused

The perfect reminder

that everything is everything

Whitey may be on the moon,

while things fall apart,

and the center doesn't hold

And the caged bird may sing,

while your dreams, become deferred

In a ball of confusion

Keep up your momentum of memory

For your history

is woven into the grass

and grass grows in a burnt field

Beneath the pale moonlight

we dance in and out of time.

The gentle hawaiian breeze,

caressing our bodies

like war-torn distant lovers, united at long last.

The smell of Midnight Blue Citrus fills the air.

The ocean bellows our name,

as it billows upon the shore.

And lands upon our scampering feet

Dear Dad,

If the day should ever come

for me to have children of my own,

Then I shall be wary of the day

they ask me what you were like

Because I

Do not have much of an answer

With each passing day

my memories of you

Get fuzzier and fuzzier

Even now, I can only recall certain moments

When I used to be able to recall

Entire days

of just you and me

But now all that I am Left with

is the feeling

Of a Library having been burnt to the ground

Every now and again

When I wallow

just a little too much in my insecurities

An Eight year old me taps my shoulders

His memories of you fully intact

Oh how I wish,

I could ask that eight year old about you

If only to remember all that I had forgotten

But he is just an echo of my own memories

From before the Library was burnt down

My own Alexandria

I can not put your love into words

And the more I learn of your past

The more I realize

That I didn’t know you

Not really

You were able to see the depths of my soul

While I barely scratched the surface of yours

I would do anything to have one more day…

One more hour…

One more minute…

To see you again

You were stronger than I knew

braver than I could comprehend

Wiser than I wanted to believe

If God is unconditional love

Then I must admit

That I would have trouble

Distinguishing you from the Lord

Equality.

It seems so simple

Yet so difficult to obtain.

My culture is fetishized

Its ideas are stolen,

packaged, and sold for profit

at the expense of my people

My culture

It’s deemed problematic

The source of society’s ills

Despite the fact

that we built this country on our backs

Our story deemed irrelevant

Unworthy of history’s remembrance

The incredible accomplishments

of my people

Erased from history.

Equality

The fight goes on

“It is a peculiar sensation this double consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his twoness, - an American, a Negro, two souls, two thoughts two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideas in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from going asunder”

- W.E.B. Du bois (Souls of Black Folk, 1903)

The Midsummer night has finally arrived

and the Double Conscious Man

who Lost and Neglected

the Creeping hours of time

finally Tires of waiting on Freedom

finally Tires of

the Incremental pace of Justice

he Weeps into the night

Hoping that Joy comes in the morning

for grass Grows in a burnt field

and his Scorched soul

can feel the ever Gentle breeze

one that is

both Nurturing and Uncaring

both Loving and Hateful

full of Compassion and Regret

But Atlas,

even glory Fades

The pain

of the Double Conscious Man

is the nostalgia of the Powerful

And it Blinds the eyes of a nation

My mind switches

from reminiscing the past

to worrying about the future

All the while demanding

I live in the present

Trapped between the past, present, & future

Time has lost all meaning

Minutes last an eternity

While days last but only a second

And it it is here

Where I have been forced to resided

I was a child that wasn’t suppose to be born. When my mother was just three years old, she was diagnosed with Sickle Cell Anemia. The doctors told my grandmother that mom wouldn’t live long enough to become an adult. When she became an adult, doctors told my mom that if she ever got pregnant she would die during childbirth. Two years later, she was pregnant with her one and only child. Me. She brought me into this world and despite what the doctors had said we both went home a few days later. She saw me graduate high school in 2016 and she saw me graduate college in May of 2020. She passed away on July 19, 2020. She is deeply missed and forever loved. She was 55.