20/30. another creative dream.

our life could be so simple and crazy dope. simple like we fall into a daily routine of walking the dog(s) and playing old school music real loud with candles lit every single night we are able to, and we curl up together and read our own books, but randomly read each other the parts we love the most or question or need each other to hear, then fall into deep discussion or silly laughter or passionate kisses that turn into flames bursting from our pores. It could be that simple and crazy dope like, hopping on and off flights, holding hands and blowing kisses with encouraging nods from backstage in between the speeches or shows, taking photos and instagram posting so everybody knows. facetime screen blowing up from the glows. hitting a mean two step every place we go, from Atlanta to Cairo, yeah making it crazy dope.

and then…

with my lipstick staining your cheeks, we silently retreat to simple. to my head on your chest, reading a passage from the bible and sharing a mug of green tea with the dogs at our feet.  yeah. I believe this could be.

19/30. you lost one.

you loved her
and you didn’t even know who she was.
you loved a woman
who took another man into her mouth
at the same time
you were texting her:
I love you
I miss you
and
please hit me back as soon you see this message.
and she did.
when she got ready to.
not because she loved you
but because she needed you
or maybe she wanted you
or maybe simply because you just happened to be there
you were a man who cared
and she was trying to get her feel on.
you loved a woman who did not
have the capacity to love you back
because maybe she was damaged before that.
maybe she was just trying to make sense of the world,
or what love meant; she was looking for an example
she found it in you.
so she picked up her pencil
and worked you out.
as soon as she found the answers
she turned you in
that when the next part of her life began
and yours felt like an end.

18/30. i aint got no worries.

men who need fixing
taste sweet to me.
I get them under my nails
and embedded in my skin
after I devour them.
what a waste of time for a woman
as amazing as I.
to think that I can swoop in
on a man who has been broken
by a woman who did not see or honor all of him
and then try to see and honor all of him
when he does not see and honor
that I love all of him
so all of me
at the end of the day ends up broken,
we are two broken
or rather,
I’m not broken
just a little bit bruised.
and best of all
bruises go away in a matter of days
so
I ain’t worried bout it.

17/30. you trust me or nah?

I want to ask the questions
that need to be asked
and stretch our thoughts
with my musings
without fear of you wondering
where it came from.
you know I’m an artist,
which makes me sensitive about ish…
and sometimes,
not so sensitive
just curious and interested
but you might say
“why you asking me this?”
but without asking
how do we build it
love? do you trust me or nah?
if it make sense or not?

16/30. Grandma’s things

I know the things must go,
But I hate that grandmothers death
Has turned her sanctuary
Into a marketplace

“Someone bought the living room furniture even the rugs!”

They clear out the remains of what we once loved on
Do they know my tears stain that fabric
That particles of my hair must be lodged between the carpet fibers
Handprints rubbed off a million times the past 26 years from the tables
Do they know that we loved deeply in those rooms
That we laughed hard enough to bring on hiccups and salt trails on our cheeks

If only we could sell pain for happiness again
I’d have you here
Listening to the love poems I’ve written this week
And giggling at me
Then getting serious and reminding me what I need to know for sure.
My hands deep in your silver waves
Brushing and listening to your wisdom

I hate that I have colored myself a brilliant bronze
completely tarnished and unavailable to glow
Missing you in anger and defeat
So much so I cursed everyone around me

A brilliant bronze
Was that a typo? No.
A message from you that even my worst pain
Is an opportunity to show brilliance
That intrinsic to healing
there is a certain elegance
To emerge from the fire
Polished, yet still bruised.
You,
My greatest teacher
Even after death
You remain a line to life
A light
For that was your purpose anyway.

15/30. Jesus was a street poet.

15/30. Sunday.

Jesus was a street poet.
And I can only imagine being there
Following him, running up those
Hills and waiting for him to come
Up off that boat and spit
A truth so good,
people hung on to him and were healed .
He had words powerful enough
To expand, expend
Create multiple spiritual dividends
Among his audience.
No one came to a show and left empty handed
Because it wasn’t a show
It was real
And when it’s real
It’s something everybody feels
It changes life.
I can only imagine being a part of his Cypher
Back then, us being close friends
But realize how dope it is
that I already am his friend
A part of his Cypher daily when he spits love to me
Sliding words my way in form of spiritual dividends
Asking me to open up and spread them
Among the crews that don’t yet rock with him
He just want us to get larger
And go harder
With a radical love speak,
He,
Who was the realest to ever do it
A street love poet until his death for me
Life giving knowledge at calvary
A straight beast
An unusual king
In street clothing.
Jesus was a street poet
And everyday that I walk
I aim to spit like him too
Giving that real love to you
And this morning if you need that real,
He said, come through
He always has love for you.

14/30. a creative life dream.

I see us living in New Orleans. One daughter. Two sons. Three dogs. Yes, a lot of mouths to feed, yet we are willing and not just for them but we feed the wards around us food literally and spiritually. We are staples among the community and you work for them daily. In our backyard there is a stage that all the local poets graze on Sunday evenings, where I stand beside you, holding hands, your wedding ring cool against my palm, me rocking a big ol curly afro, barefoot with tattered shorts, your family reunion tee cut up and hanging off my shoulder with beads our daughter made around my neck, beaming, happy we made the decision to throw logic to the wind and just see what could happen all those years ago…
A girl can dream impossible. 

13/30. Daddy Pope.

Daddy Pope

I wish he was mine
So I could go back in time
And dial his number
Tell him come get her
Throw that woman who divided your soul
Into a black hole
Lock it up so she can’t call you
She can’t text you or send you
Cheesy fake ass bracelets
And drop you cheap surprises
To reel you back in
Like she been trying to.
If I was you I’d be careful
If I was you I would run
But you got a soft heart
And she got a strong gun
And daddy Pope don’t really exist
He’s a fictional character
That woman you loved
What a fictional character
Who you were when you were with her
Was a fictional character
That love you think you feel
Is a fictional character
Nothing but a heart emoji at best
Deep in the recesses always overlooked
And never gets text
those years that you spent
You should view as a deleted script
And develop a new plot without her in it.

If I could call daddy pope
I certainly would to save you
B613 her away
Save your day
But you don’t wanna be saved…

 

A thought on unconditional love, relationships & being raised as an only child.

Listening to my mother on the phone with her sisters (whom she has been through sooooo many things with over 50 something years) leads me to this thought:

sibling relationships must be the incubator for developing unconditional love and forgiveness.

I imagine that growing up with someone, living in the same space with a sister who makes me angry and I have to forgive and forget before the day ends and keep growing together over and over, day after day because we share a room among other things, must be the ultimate unconditional love practice as a child.

But…

I didn’t grow up with siblings. I was raised as an only child with a dog companion. And I harbor things. I forgive, but not as fully or as quickly releasing the pain etc as I should. One day while bike riding with a friend who was also raised as an only child, she asked me if we love differently and develop/release relationships differently because of our only child status. I believed so. We came to a conclusion that when there has only been you, you know how to “make it” on your own so “oh well” (#kanyeshrug) when unfavorable situations occur in friendships and other relationships. I wonder if we’d had that additional practice of unconditionally loving another human being from a young age, who was our friend and always was in our space, someone we seemingly had no choice but to forgive and address due to living inside the boundaries of being family, that we would have come out on the other end with a stronger ability to quickly mend the torn edges of relationships and continue loving others as full as possible.

In the same vein, I think of this practice mostly because I am getting closer to the opportunity of meeting the man I will spend the rest of my life with. I want to get married and I want to stay married to the same man I take those vows with until death.  I fully understand that when I am married, it ain’t no joke, it ain’t no games with the forgiveness, you have to deal with it and let it go. He will work my nerves sometimes and vice versa, but if we want a lasting marriage, we cannot escape the bed or the house we share; we must deal with the issue and keep growing together.

I guess what I know is:

1.my child will NOT be raised alone but there will be more than one living in my home. They will most definitely share a room and have to practice this love no matter what! #evillaughbutnotevil lol

2. I have to work super hard to keep building my unconditional love and forgiveness muscle. they are most definitely one and the same, for they cannot exist without one another. and I must be honest about where I am in all friendship and relationships in my life. no harboring!

you feel me? do you find this is true for you as well or have you had a different experience?

12/30. for EH.

 

sometimes when I see your name

pop up on my phone screen

answer and hear your laughter,

I wonder who we could be…

see,

something in me

wants to untie all of your negative memories

put these hands on your heart and save

undo the hurt your mother gave

let my love replace

take out those stitches

from the wounds that never seem to heal

and gift you

trust only God could allow me to give you.

did you know that I love you baby I love you I do

did you know it was true baby, yes that it’s true

that I just wanna stare at you

sit Indian style in front of you

and tell you stories on how

each of the freckles on your nose appeared

let the moon glow, read your favorite poems

and make your house a home

baby step outside the poem

make my house a home

take you into my heart

read your palms

then draw tattoos in sharpies

and draw pictures on your walls

paint murals in your halls

make your house a home

bring the dogs

ain’t nothing to it

we could do it

I love you I love you I do

and it ain’t urgent as a mother*cker

it’s steady

it’s one of those things that just been growing

but like Nina and Darius

we don’t have to know how to make the house a home

we could just let God help us grow

stop making big things out of little things

and collaborate on everything

I said I love you baby I love you I do

just burning up with energy when I’m with you

admire everything about you

just wanna slow dance with you

reach up high and trace the back of your neck

with my fingertips

let our souls kiss

let the moon glow

debate what bell hooks said

have a pillow fight and jump on the bed

read your favorite poems

make this house a home

step outside the poem

bring the dogs

we can do it all…

 

-j.