Who Gave You the Right to Procreate?

I almost cried at work tonight! There are few things that penetrate my cold hard exterior that I’ve built in order to do my job. Few things make me feel, makes me think, few things.
I met a baby tonight, one who had just begun to live and was almost ready to die. The mommy didn’t see the need for antenatal care, so she went nine months without seeing a doctor once. Her baby was born with a heart condition, it was difficult for me to watch him, pale, blue struggling to breathe, struggling for life and not feel agony. Sometimes when I think that humans can’t be any  more cruel, they up and surprise me yet again. That infant will probably not live to see a month, and that is a tragedy. There are couples and families that have tried in vain to have a baby, some who spend thousand of dollars, trying every new and experimental treatment on the block, just to be told that they would never be able to have their own child. It’s sad, that the ones who want can’t have any and the ones who have don’t want.

Sometimes I wish I was a rabble rousing, holier than though, evangelical nut, who was on a crusade to rid the world of IDIOTS WHO GO NINE MONTHS WITHOUT GOING TO THE DOCTOR ONCE. It bothers me, that they feel that having sex has no consequence and they have no responsibility to the growing person  inside them.

Firstly, I’m pro-choice, I don’ wave it like a banner or hold rallies about how awesome and right we pro-choicers are but I am. I don’t condemn someone who is pro-life, that’s their choice and I can respect that, but I believe in the ability to choose. I never want to be one of those persons having babies and being unable to care for them, thinking that its the government’s job or relatives’ job, or even the random man of the streets’ job to feed my children. If you can’t afford them, I don’t believe you should have them. There are enough abused, neglected and abandoned children in the world, without adding to the quantity. Being pro-choice for me, doesn’t mean using abortion as birth control or being loose and irresponsible. Yet to have that option of birth control and abortion should the situation call for it. I can tell that the backlash from writing something like this may be great, but fuck it, who cares.

Where I come from, prenatal care is a free service offered by the public heath department, you can go to the clinic and see the midwives, get standard care at no cost. If you want to see a specialist of course you will spend specialist money. There are always options and there are always excuses.

I conducted a research project when I was in my final semester of School of Nursing, investigating the percentage of women for 2010 who didn’t have prenatal care and the complications that occurred as a result. What was surprising was the high amount of women who didn’t see a doctor was approximately 30% and from that percentage only 5-6% actually had complications. The problem was however, was when the complications came, they were usually devastating to mother and infant.

This culture that we have cultivated of entitlement has really begun to dig us deeper and deeper to societal despair. No one wants to work hard for what they want anymore, they demand. From everyone but themselves, and it sucks, further reinforcing why generally, the poor always remain poor. I’m so tired, seeing women running into the hospital, in labor, ready to deliver a baby that she doesn’t even know the due date. It also bothers me, when they come in bleeding, after having taken four cytotec pills, bleeding out almost half of their blood volume and expecting us to save them. It’s the job, but it bothers me, that women feel they have the right to procreate just because they have a vagina, but with every action, there is consequence, I just hope it won’t be too high.


My First…



I spent 3 days

five hours and 27 seconds

preparing for my trip

I was so wired

and tired

that I almost ended up missing my flight.

And if that was my only plight

the sight of the plane

scared the SHIT out of me.

It reminded me of a sardine can

small, tightly packed

I could hardly relax.

Everyone had to have known,

that it was my first,

My maiden voyage

as I foraged

looking for a bag to gag in

and it quickly sank in

That I was going to DIE…

In a lil plane

to small to be considered a boat

I could feel my throat constricting

and I knew what I was missing,

it was terrifying.

I felt like an explorer

defying the odds

and turbulence.

what a turn of events

when we touched down on that runway

my stomach began to runaway

all I wanted to do was runaway,

but I would have to get home somehow.


I hate Black History Month

Featured image

Still in love with this piece 

What can I say about black history month,

nothing much it seems.

tired of being indignant and ignorant

feeding off of misleading propaganda

designed to insight

and inflate

and provoke “us” to roit.

I think its a fucking waste

looking at a past which is very much like the present,

thinking that the future will be better just because we will it.

I’m just tired of preaching to the choir

black people who have to rub their intelligence

in your face like shit

just to prove something

to me?

or to yourself.

I wish that black history month was a celebration

but among these parts

its like a pity party

for self serving

rable rousing loud mouths

who promote mediocrity

by disseminating an ideology that you are special because of your race.

singing kum-bi-ya


pleading to all the other field slaves.

yet, i’m the bad guy,

because i don’t write,






fuck it,

I don’t need to read filth

to remember my heritage,

freedom won from chains

proud black

shinning through.

I don’t need to join a cause to respect my ancestors.

I just need to raise my children

teaching them to love themselves

hoping that their generation won’t be as fucked up as ours.

Mirror Mirror

identity d

I’m fracturing


renting from the seams

as pressure builds within,

it should be easy,

giving up on things

that make you toxic

but i’m pathetic

attracting leeches

like leeches

to blood

allowing them to suck my essence dry

i’m secretly sadistic,

pretending to enjoy my pain

by hurting others

and I’ve been

hurting others

stuck in this inter-neural battle

with myself for far too long.

something has got to give

Something has got to build

Because this life of delapitated love stories

And demolished dreams are beginning to take a toll

As I attempt to take 

Hold on all the things that make me 



No more poetic clone wars 

Stories of love lost 

Dead and forgotten 

Undertakers attempting in futility 

To revive the dead 

Frankstein’s monster 

An abomination that should’ve never been given thought 

Much less life. 

No more poetic sandstorms 

Of life lived 

The only remnants 

The dunes of memories 

That depresses even the reader. 

It’s not enough 

To exist 

Barely living 

Crawling into holes and crevices 

Living like a scavenger off the land

The next meal… the only highlight! 

No more sad love songs 

Gazing at stars 

Wishing that time travel was possible 

And that you knew the meaning to life. 

What you wouldn’t kill to reach nirvana. 

Was it real? 

This mythical place of peace and contentment 

Where nothing matters because your so over the bullshit.

No more poetic thunderstorms, hurricanes, 

Natural disasters of any kind 

Just a peace that passeth 


I know I pretend like i don’t need you but…


I want to possess you

Demons circling easy prey,

I pray that you will love me



Forgetting about past

Because we are past

The last

Man… woman

We are linked to these bodies

By energy

You to me

Me loving you

Wanting to be your shadow

Your conscience

Your choice

Your first thought

And your last smile…

I am amazed

At how effortless we fit,


Metaphysical locks and keys

That were crafted for each other.

Moving beyond long winded

exhausted arguments about everything

and nothing

i am nothing without you

a sentient being floating

without a place to call home.

because you are home

the cozy embrace of your arms is my salvation…

And as I make offering to profess my devotion

I pray that you would give me a notion

A sign

A burning bush

Or a simple smile

I know I pretend like I don’t need you


i love you…

from your resident corny writer

Ronda. ..

She was only diagnosed three days ago

but she knew long before

that she was dying,

and i’d like to think that she’s made peace with it…

twenty three year old…

all tatted up

making mistakes and drawing her own conclusions

six months ago, she was invincible

doing what those afflicted by youth do best…

she had barely begun to live..

barely knew what she wanted,

wanted to be

what she wanted to do

and it wasn’t fair

that she should suffer,

wasting slowly into a pile of nothing

turning to a god that she never believed in before,


crying screaming

going through all the stages of grief in an instant

she wouldn’t last long, she knew

she saw the stares

the unshed tears

the silence

when everyone

spoke to everyone but her

it wouldnt make a difference

wouldn’t change her fate

one day… soon

she would die

and that would be the end of that…

What are we…. Exactly?


I know nothing about you

it seems

caught up in my own mind

trying to turn sexship into a friendship

or is it fuckship


fuck, shit…

I know nothing about you


but I can feel you undressing me with just the tone of your voice

when all is quiet

and i sleep at night

my mind settles in a spot right next to you

gazing into dark hues of brown and lust?

or love?

could it be like?

I know nothing about you but the rhythm of your thrusts

that my body has memorized like an orchestra playing in a show

bodies connecting in harmony as it makes music…

its beautiful

the sounds you make, when the intensity becomes to great

and you don’t wanna wait any longer

but you do


because my satisfaction is the satisfaction that you seek…

I know nothing about you

not enough

that i should be connected in the way that i’m connected to you.

that blue is your favorite color

and you love perfume

or is it cologne?

I don’t know everything about you,

neither do I want to,

what I know

is just enough.

Its Perfect


it’s perfect

dressed in fine silk and thick wool

a relationship that shines

reflecting all the light of the universe around it…

it’s perfect


filled with beautiful people

who must be perfect too…

But are they,


Beyond what the eyes can see

Dark closets and plushed pillows

so why do they pretend

living life like supermodels



flawless to the untrained eye and fake in all the ways it counts…

they were perfect

filled with well wishes and good intentions

but they never intended to fall out of love

stuck between starting over and pretending

pretending that its perfect

but all that glisters

hardly ever is gold

and some problems never have solutions

but whose perfect anyway?

Three generations of wrongs…


Silence is all thats there
But its not really silent
Because I can hear the dripping of tears
As they meet flesh
And the gripping of skin thats not too long lost life
I use to say
I havent lost anyone
That’s been close
Well almost…
And its been true
For though we share the blood in our veins
And features so distinct we were separated by years of mistrust and resentment
You being wrong
And me holding grudges that now seem simple
Why didnt I just humble?
But I feel for the silence
Of my mothers tears
All her fears
As she stares at her mothers reflection in her eyes…
Her heart aches
Badly beaten
If I could
I would give her a token of life…
Give her a day to make right
If I could I would
Forgive … I would live
A life that was pleasing
Pleading to all
To live simple
To love even the little things
If I knew I would cry,
I wouldve loved her more when she was living…
Im trying to imagine her sleeping,
My heart is aching
Overflowing with guilt
Its exhausting
And I have to remember its not about me…
If I could… I would give you tokens
Rest in peace