Crux and Flux

“Thoughts”

Even though I am
A student of this life
With well earned notches
On my too-tight belt
I get anxious when i realize
That I know very little
About myself and how to relate
To this crazy world.

My memories, like a mosaic
Have been cemented together,
Bits and pieces, glints and glares
Sharp edges,
Good times, and bad,
Hot blood, cold sweats, and warm tears
Coagulating, solidifying
Shaping who I am…

Sometimes I hope
I can move past my mistakes
But the days continue to go by,
Painting a picture, of me
For all to see,
Sketching a portrait of a woman
Who is silent and meek,
Blessed with a noble tongue,
And possessed by a potent pen….
I am torn, but not weak
And sometimes
My ill decisions produce grief

But I am not a bad person.

Like the suns rays
I try to shine light
On my positives
Hoping they will keep me going
Even as the sun goes down
On yet another dark day…

Rage smolders inside me like a demon trapped in a charred husk, searching for an escape, scratching and clawing, hoping to make its way back to hell. Reliant on patience, medications, incense, and prayer, I wander through life daily hoping that I will not lose it, that I will not sojourn to the other side where the crazies reside. No one understands, yet they all claim to, and this only makes the journey through life all the more frustrating. You get close to redemption, close to being saved, fingers gripping the edge, and then BOOM, it all falls apart, the liquor of lability dripping like blood off of your lips.

FLux. Constant change. Good and bad, Black and white, Up and Down. This dialectic relationship you can’t divorce yourself from, constantly jabs you in the ribs, keeping you conscious for the torture, and unable to run back to a place where things are stable. I guess this is the mystery of life. That you must keep learning, you must keep changing, you must keep giving, and taking, and compromising. Nothing stays the same. No matter how hard you try to make people happy, or to be happy yourself, nothing stays the same.

Written for one of my students today… She writes poetry and always drops them off on my desk.. Her poem was called “Because of the way we act.”

So i wrote one back…

“Lost in Translation”

I know at times,
It hurts to put your feelings into words
In Wolof or in English
But sometimes it must be done

I see a cool, regal,
True African queen.
A long lost sister maybe?
Holding court, and blossoming into a young lady
Before my eyes.
Strength exudes from your being.
Yet you refuse to expose the real you.

Why?

Your precocious play with words,
That you tease from your mind,
Speak of unspoken tragic stories,
But your silent screams tell me nothing.

Why?

I am here for you,
To hold you hand,
Our trust will be built
And I will try not to let you down.
I will not turn my back
And I will try to do my best,
And I won’t hold your words against you

Simply because of the way you act.

“Absolved“

That touch of yours
So sweet and tender
Hesitant, yet purposeful

Felt so right,
Even though we both knew it was so wrong.
You explored all of the right places,
Places that still had no name.

Those soft touches I still feel,
Produced memories that haunt to this day.

My childlike giggles and
Your private tickles, the sly
Way you massaged my leg,
Introduced me to an adulthood
At a time when years of my
Girlhood were still left.

All is forgiven, but not forgotten,
You see, because I refuse to allow the past
To dictate the paths of my future.

The wind will blow where it will,
Unshed tears will spill no longer
And I will let the chips fall where they may.

We know what happened, it has been done.
And from my heart, the hands of time
Has removed all traces of hate.

“Mom”

Your frigid yet fleeting stare deconstructs my body
And holds it to a standard that even you cannot hold for yourself.
It creates and perpetuates a complex,
A cool contempt I have held dear, for years to my heart.

To this day.

My ample hips, dark skin, and supple lips
Ugly as they are to me, attract attention from them.
And I sometimes wish they would go away, and let me be.
Other times, I bask in this rare ability to feel.

I half-heartedly thank you for this paradox.

I know you abhor my ability to act like I don’t care
To pretend that I am not affected
By the comments and snide remarks which lance the sores
That boil my blood, leaving me exposed.

We are joined in this experience. It makes us who we are.

So different, yet so similar.
I am from you, you made me.
I am now an adult, and I can now see
That we are both uncomfortable

In our skin.

Inspired by the overly transparent people who I sometimes encounter on a daily basis. I just wish people would be themselves and not who they think others want them to be. Life would be so much easier. (mini rant over!)

“Plastic”

Dreams are swiped away,
As we attempt to be on par
With the “Others.”
Blue Bloods who never had to work for nothing.

But I did.
And you do.
Yet we still try to be
What we are not.

Faux Chanel lenses cover tear stains and
Lies which shake us at our core
Each time we act in vain.
Knowing full well that we will never measure up.

Ever.

This false sense of self,
Steals from our mental health,
And softly preys and says in our ears,

“But you are pretty on the outside!”

And deep inside we know,
That in a minute we would sell our souls
To make reality out of this false and deluded wealth.

The Orchid Room

Give it a look will ya!

“Untitled”

smoky grey cigar smoke unfurls
above my head
as if my thoughts dance and depart
visibly, presenting me as

A person who is more skilled
and thoughtful
but I am more willed
and artful, in this life

and in the next, I will be too

saxophone moans
and screeching tones
speak words that hide
in my mouth

that pull strings

next to my breast, next to my heart

“Disheveled”

I think all you need now is a cup, a cart,

And some street charisma

Because your crazy is showing.

Ashy skin, and a nappy ‘fro

Mismatched wrinkled clothes

And the light sneer which

Plays on your lips.

Proof that the deep end is not far away.

“You got change?”

You ask, and I willingly give it up

Even though I know that my generosity

Will only further your dis-ease.

I love you.

You look like me.

You have my eyes

My skin, my lips, my smile.

A mirror image of me in male form.

I want to save you.

You hurt, and I cannot stop it.

We cry, but our tears will not quench the

Fire of the insanity that kindles deep inside,

A burning pain which you continue to deny.

Why? Who knows.

I want to save you.

I will continue to try.

“Karma”

Your kiss swallows me whole

And takes me in, seducing me

But your lips taste like cancer.

My soul disintegrates, my life, my body

Is being eaten alive,

And no one can stop it.

Karma?

Maybe.

All of those bad things I did,

They haunt my existence

And now sweet revenge is not mine.

They say what goes around

Will come around

Like a heavy wooden door that slams shut

In anger,

Snidely swinging back to hit you in the ass

Waking you up, and dragging you to a reality

which feels more like a late night terror

that won’t end.

Then you stand awake

Soaked in sweat

And tears and your blood pumps furiously.

The deluge fills veins and a

Overheated heart with dread.

Karma.

I really wish it would stop.