My Best Day

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My best day

Striped socks and stilettos

My Best Day…Chipped Nails, A good Push-up, Striped Socks, Stilettos, an almost empty energy drink, and The Black Key’s fingering my ear lobes…

 

 

 

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My soul is tired.

slave then

Make a fist and stand up for your rights

I’m tired.

My soul is tired! Tired of politicizing. Tired of Fighting injustice. Tired of standing up for those who can’t stand for themselves. Tired of writing, tired of marching, tired of requesting, tired of begging, tired of forcing, tired of 36 hr. days…

I’m tired of being able to see! I’m tired of being able to hear!

I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of bags under my eyes. I’m tired of not having time…for ME.

My soul is so tired.

My soul is SO tired…

But….I’m never too tired to quit.

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Not Yet

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I’ve been waiting on a love song to sing to me.

I’ve been waiting on a love song to speak to me.

A kind melody to dance with me. A lullaby to soothe me.

A love song to rekindle love-memories.

The radio refuses to play what I need and my CD’s don’t work for me.

There are no melody makers strumming on my street.

No Mexican Serenade under my window. No Scott Joplin‘s Solace whispers to me.
I’ve been waiting for a love song to sing to me..to play for me..to croon just for me.

But, I think that the song that “I” need hasn’t been written, yet.

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Polka-dot Pillow

Image Credit: Beach Cottage

Bliss tickles my red polish toe

The night before ensues on my fingertip; to my lips I delightfully place.

Hmm.. the subtle taste of deceit and defeat holds my tongue.

No matter, pleasure is all mine, this morning.

Entranced with lids closed, my eyes mimic the scene…

Moisture thickens, and my bare thighs chill

My back stiffens to reveal the burgundy scratches that mark my shoulder blades

A cold yellow towel, I wipe down my face.

Black mascara blotched spots and violet eyeshadow, paint

I rinse and wring.. behind my neck I place..my glare whistles from the mirror

A tender, raised smile shines back

Erect and high… I return to the lipsticked-stained, pink, polka-dot pillow, that eagerly awaits my muffled high-pitched shrieks.

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These Fingers

Venice Hands
Venice Hands

Image Credit: Sajan Raj Kurup

I’ve noticed that I haven’t been wearing any rings lately; on my fingers.

No polish, or color; except for my own brown glossy shade.

I’m attracted to the plainness, the shortness of fingernail, the roundness of knuckle, and the delicate bends.

The softness of palm with blushing lines throughout

The thin of finger and tiny mimic of bone (so enticing)

Stretching my hands in front of me, and spreading them wide, I quiver..a subtle quake

I’ve seen these hands do so much….
They bake superior pies
They raise high fists in crowds
They have kept safe, the smallest of creatures
They swiftly dance on keyboard riffs

These fingers play invisible piano on busy trains
They scrub pots and pans
They paint un-sketched masterpieces
They soothe my scalp,
They baby my ear,
They nestle my thigh and rub my belly

They work diligently to feed me
They dress and undress me
bathe and comfort me

These fingers on these two hands..do so much.

They are weary and stretched.
Cracked lines and swollen knuckles..

They appear as if they’ve done enough..done too much…

Yet, they still lift me out of bed every morning.  They wipe my eyes and massage my temples. They prepare me in prayer pose and hold me in high plank.

They cheer and clap for me during the day, and relax my neck in the evening.

These fingers.. on these two hands.. hold my head and pray me to sleep; every night.

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Fingertips

Image Credit: Mrs. Oasis

With his whole hand he used to love me… then he let go.
Now, all he touches me with is his fingertips.

 

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BLACK BEAUTYS SONG

barack_and_Michelle_3_close_up1

I sing on top of mountaintops

I sing at births and weddings

I sing at jazz clubs

in Hip-hop clubs

Reggae fests and

Auditoriums

plays and musicals

parks and supermarkets

bathrooms and bedrooms

I sing of into the night talks and 5 a.m. runs and walks,

Of holding hands while walking through the mall

Of tender back of the neck kisses and gentle ear caresses that mimic it all

I sing of black on black love that stood through thrashes and rapes

A love that stood through hound chases and over the broom disappointments

A love that floated to the top of the sea, above tarnished ancestral bones

A love that passes through prison cells and ghetto walls

A love that crawls over mountains and dances through high

grass

I sing in your ears babies

On my knees baby

I sing of good mornings and restful nights

Red roses and bottled wine

Lingerie delicacies

Secret fantasies

Loud love and hushed moans

I sing of hope and resurrection

I sing of peace and friendship

I sing of warmth and comfort

I sing of kisses and tears

From blue-black to the lightest of the beige

From nappy to the nappiest

From the tallest to the shortest

From the thickest to the bony

I sing black-beauty’s song

Loud and soft

Hard and tuff

Black-beautiful-black

I sing, I sing, I sing

Because of my Mama and my daddy

Because of my grandmother and grandfather

I sing because of my daughters and sons

I sing because I got too

I sing because God told me too and because

Oshun blessed me to

I sing

I sing through tears of remembering and heartache from understanding

the pain of yesterday that creeps into today

but, I sing of rebuilding, mending, and feeding black bellies

of planting and watering fields of black hearts and souls and making them

healthy and whole

I sing black beauty’s song and it sounds so sweet

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Blow on Me

blessing

Just a blow behind my left ear. Just a silent whisper is all I need. My belly rises and falls and twists of us. Long before we became “US”.

I remember being four, and seeing you at the bottom stairwell, a chill never forgotten.

At night you would pace and pant outside of my window. I listened and heard. Ignored and hid.

As a child, I read you in the comic books, I fingered your thigh and played hand clap games with you. In Jet Magazine, I kissed your toe. Your multifaceted face paved my school books.

At church, I helped finish your sermons. And, “I” wrote the music to all the hymns.

To hold me, and to graze my shoulder is all I would ask, but you never did.

I jogged pass you the other day, and took your water; it tasted sweet (as always).

I noticed the new flowers that you planted in the backyard, I wrote a note to you on how beautiful they were, “I placed it on top of the T.V.” I know you saw it.

A new mole appeared, right above my right breast, I looked for you, to question your face, Solemn you appeared, with no response.

“Do you see this?” I whispered.. You shrugged, and walked away.

I slept an hour too late all week long, you never woke me, you just sat heavy at the foot of my bed. When, I finally arose you left and stood in the living room front corner (As Always). Just standing, and watching, everyday.

You linger and hover around me, You ride in the backseat and wait in the kitchen.

Just… Just… Touch me. I think I can take it.

You stand over me as I bathe. Just… Just..Touch me. I can take it.

You followed me to the hospital today; riding my heels. I suddenly stopped, you stopped too. I stretched my hand to you.. “I really need you today.” I whispered. “Just hold my hand, please. Please!..” I pleaded. You never responded. You just waited and watched the creases in my face. The quiver of my lip brought you no sympathy.

I turned away from you and straightened my back and tried to walk away from you as fast as I could. Of course, I knew that you would never grow tired of surrounding me. Still, I just wanted to get away from you. My hurt didn’t bother you, my discontent and pain (you cared not).

You watch me now. Sitting on my desk, dangling and kicking your feet. I reach for your ankle, you dodge me and just keep on paddling. Almost whimsical. You watch me breathe, and sit and breathe again. Not an utterance, not a “humph” or even a bump.

I’ll just ignore you.. I’ll act as if your not here. I can’t help but to look your way, because I know that your staring at me, watching and waiting.

“Humph” I say. What’s the point. I guess this is just “US”.

I look at you, (longing) “Will you at least just blow on me?”

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Glory

Image Credit: Unknown. The Fray lyrics

Never Stop Loving Me

Image Credit: Tyler Shields

GLORY

Like stepping stones all along the paths to my awakenings

You step lightly with soft toes

Gentle taps
Tender pats

Stepping around me

Sending chills at my lower back

Tickling my belly

Blowing at me

Whispering

Pacing in circles that surround me

Penetrating without penetration

Stimulating me without any physical stimulation
Making me sweat when it ain’t hot

All around me

All through me

This way and that way

Touching here and pressing there

Feeling me up with words Making me dance when it ain’t no music

Glory

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