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.


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 


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


I should just give up 

Give up living 

Give up trying to be something I’m not 

Fighting not to become the person that I am 

And it’s pathetic 

After all who said I’d never 

They can finally say that I didn’t 

Prophetic  justice for all the bad shit that I’ve done! 

And I’m hurting 

Busy hurting me 

Thinking I’m hurting you 


you’re searching

pleading for love

from a rock

wishing you could melt his stoney heart

just because you will it

but will it

make the difference

loving someone who will never love you back

and its bullshit

pretending to be happy

in marital bliss

with something that could never feel you too

at some point in time

it gets exhausting

the numbness

as you begin to change

getting cold

discarding friendships

sitting in silence

refusing to share

what little humanity you have left…

then you’re gone

remnants of your former self dehydrated

sucked dry

until there is only stone left…

Give it a little time…

it’s late

or early

depending on whose clock were going by

everything was fine

the spark was there

bodies warm

with hormones and body fluids

and the progression was steadily progressing

to the point where we couldn’t help but touch

but somewhere between the spinal cord and brain

something deviated

distorted signals

ignoring cues

and then it was over,

leaving only numbness

and the whirling of a mechanic motor nearby,

the silence is filled with mute screaming and unshed tears

but this is nothing new

a well practised number

that has final reached its crescendo


its early…


but time doesn’t wait for wounds to heal

and sores to scab…

Tired Drafts and Exhausted Words…

I’m blocked again….

busy writing drafts

and mediocrity.

drafts that sound the same

like stale music on an ipod

that goes on and on,

which begin to nag on the brain after a while.

i’m caught up

in my feelings and my relationships

trying to deal with my shit

and handle my business

but i think that i’ve bitten off

just a tad bit more than

i could choke on

and i’m choking

becoming necrotic from the inside out

poetry dying

stuck in drafts folders, notes

and gray matter

coiled tightly in neurons

that should know better…

now who’s frustrating who…

The Stubborn Part Of Me

hey lovies… this is my girlfriends blog…. a cool poet and awesome singer


In addition to the good within there also lies the bad
The feeling that leaves you emotionally torn and makes your heart grow sad
So before I mention all good things I must make a disclaimer
Cause the stubborn part takes over me & I often tend to blame her…
For the reason why I yell & curse, making people cry
For the reason why I throw in the towel & give up after 1st try
And also why I choose to vent through physical abuse
Instead of verbalizing in a political dispute

I use it as a crutch to support me when my heart gets broken
I use it as a paradox when words are left unspoken

Somehow I’ve taken me for granted
I let hatred be
Yet still I blame it all on the stubborn part of me…
For the reason why we’ve broken up & grown so…

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