Finally Being Heard?

Poetry, Social Justice

It’s the pain of our modern world

It’s the reality of our broken history

The truth made invisible,

what we go through, you know,

“finally being heard.”

We don’t become relevant until our pain becomes their platform…

The appropriation, the killings, the villains were never us.

They cannot stand to see their reflection in a mirror,

too ready to pull a trigger.

When you realize you haven’t met your soulmate 

Uncategorized

When you realize you haven’t met your soulmate 

You realize this person is not the one 

They emotionally drain you,

It’s quite painful because you become accustomed to them 

As if they should be that person

You’ve dedicated time and energy to some waste of a time 

They are clearly not your soulmate when they flake on you

They never want to go out with you and your friends 

They call after hours 

They expect you to pick up every call 

&& they don’t work with you, but against you. 

They are not your soulmate if they make you cry 

Or even shy when you are brighter than the sun 

They make you fold and seem as if you’re too much 

When it is not you but them. 

You begin to think and rethink every thing you want to say 

& that is emotional abuse 

It’s when they are inconsiderate of your time and too blind to see it. 

Run away 

They are not your soulmate 

You don’t need them. 

Run 

Please far away

Tick tock

Poetry, Prose, Uncategorized

Tick tock — the clock winds to our time.

I met you late at night, taxied to your place. Your words wooed me,  your letters… they humored me. And with that, I ended up wrapped in your sheets after breathing in mother nature laced.

Your lips traced my skin, traced my thighs and made me sigh. Your inner soul intertwined and demanded “you’re mine.”

Tick tock — the clock winds to our time.

Night 3 came upon me, this night our words filled the space, my womanhood allowed me to only taste. Another day passed and I met you again, but in a different way. It was, well is like a catalyst, this string and sting of emotion…energy that you transmit upon me.

Tomorrow, I want you to tomorrow. I want your joy, pleasure and sorrow. I treasure the moment my spirit met you. The way you whisper within my soul. You whisper to my wholeness. My shadow before you, for this you gawk. Your admiration leaves me pulsating for your rhythm.

Tick tock — the clock winds you, around me.

One, Two and Three

Poetry, Prose

Yesterday, the frozen city sparkled in gold, green, red and white. The holiday spirit crept through the avenues, blocks and streets. Alcohol seeped through the cracks, filling the air with a stale smell. Laughter and stupidity dripped from the people’s mouths. Broken carols off tune filled the air. One round, two rounds and three. Some people knew nothing of their whereabouts. Others dancing and moving to the sounds of the beat. Atop of rooftops, on top of bars, on dance floors waxed with beer, you saw their feet shuffle and their mouths slur. More alcohol was poured. My insides were glowing and beaming. 

*Delivered* flickered my screen. One message, two messages and three. Next thing you know, I was on the subway. Going up, up to your town. Up one stop, two and times four. Two hours before the clock hits midnight, I’m almost at your door. My heels stomp the pavement, the men whistle, toot and holler. Buzzzzzzzz, I went up one flight, two flights and three. You stood in the doorway, tall, glowing and tired. I giggled and brushed your cheek with a kiss. Your smile made my inside warm. 
I unbundled and sat next to you. We briefly shared our day and then turned to the tv. We glared at it, sometimes it watched us. Exhaustion overwhelmed our bodies. In a moments time we were in your room stretched out. I laid there vulnerable. The light flickered and you took over my soul. Our souls danced, intertwined, and whispered; just once tonight. 

Component

Poetry

I don’t know if it is the hollow space in my soul being filled 

Or it is your genuine spirit lifting me 

I don’t know why I love it so much 

The way you wiggle into my space

It all happens in such haste

I still feel your touch when I leave 

And then, I return to your cave

I muster up the courage every time 

To let you back in my hollow space 

This temporary relief 

Leads me to mischief 

Is this merely us toying with emotions? 

I need to take a moment

To realize how much your aura 

Hasn’t left me broken 

What if you’re the right component? 

Or am I just being naive?

Too irrational to see?

Rambling thoughts on an evening ride

Poetry, Uncategorized

I was sitting on the train and I saw a woman. Indian I presumed, by the marking between her eyebrows, her beautiful, long, thick hair and medical uniform. She sat with a book open, studying but ever so often looking up around the cart we sat in. It was about 8pm and not many passengers were on the train headed uptown from Brooklyn. 
I found her staring at me, taking quick glances at my shoes, then me: probably wondering–either if the studying was worth it or if I too, was Indian. I mean, I can only imagine her thoughts. Although, sometimes you just get a feeling of a persons’ thought process when they stare and keep making glances. She sat with one leg crossed over, so lady like. I thought to myself, of course she’s in the medical field or studying to be. 
Why did I think, “of course” this is what her career would be? Well, I didn’t mean to be stereotypical. My immediate thought process was that her family probably pushed her to go into that field because it pays well. They are most likely there for her, supporting her every move, why would she not follow their advice and expectations. I believe she must be religious, by the marking between her brows, although it could just have been a birth mark. I was not close enough to tell, nor could stare long enough to see. 
Back to my immediate thoughts. Now, I thought- if she’s religious her family or husband is definitely there for her. She must pursue a career that they will support her living, especially if she is still studying in the university. Then, I connected her kinship to my people’s. 
I thought stereotypically of us, not to put us down just to make a quick connection. Many Latina and Black women do end up going in similar paths. They often end up as beautiful bottle girls, vixen dancers at night clubs and the biggest bang of them all–famous strippers, but it supports them. The patterns of similar choices fall down to what one’s support systems are. Maybe destiny does exist and fate persists, but at the end of the day we are put in society to become survivors. People just need support to grow and flourish. 
My final thought after seeing her in that medical field, does she love what she do? If so, kudos to her parents and her.