Fight Night

The moon looks tragic tonight

By the lake a couple

Critical errors are being made

Landing vicious blows to the ego

Great techniques

Beautiful combination of misunderstanding and guts

But who has the glory?

When no one agrees to a truce

Spare no feelings

Continue to round two

She makes it official

The sound of panic; devastating



I don’t want to be the first to say this

I fret because my skin is brown

Why don’t you like me?

Is my hair too wild?

My curls too tangled

Twisted my lock at night

For length and acceptance

Can my skin pass the paper bag test?

My silence taken for dishonesty

Why make my curves a gimmick?

Pressure to be a clone

Don’t look at me

I’m different




Summer is June July August. Barbecues and water ice. The flowers of purple, red, yellow. A slight breeze. The measured steps. The humidity that seeps through the pores. The smells of hickory or charcoal. The steak. The sweat beads. The thirst. Lying in a hammock with a cold glass of lemonade. The sand under bare feet. Glistening skin. Laughter. Rain that is damp. The dark sky . The whirl of the air conditioning. The Fourth of July fireworks. Thunderstorms bursting . The buzzing flies. Swarming bees. Eating salads because I want to look nice in a bikini. The wave crashes at my feet. This season is not my friend on the high nineties day. I walk to the store

With a sense of dread

Stay inside it’s safer here

Think away the heat


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Traces of permanence

Ignore me

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Until I emerge from the past

Loving you

I don’t want this to end

The future is looming

I want you there

Don’t ask this of me

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I repeat do not logout

This is not a test

The Media Telling Lies

Taylor Swift is a sweetheart


Jared Leto is a gentleman

That’s bonkers

Reality is actually manipulation

Preying on the vulnerable

Take a drink

America Telling lies

Such as the Kardashians make everything cool

They appropriate black culture

It’s not news

What about Prince’s death?

The Olympic games

The two Simones

I have a theory

I don’t believe the hype

The plastics and instant gratification

They’re out of bounds





Staring contest

The sun always wins

Shining beaming

I try to escape

Heat and humidity are the weapons

Leaving me parched and sweaty

Perhaps I may melt

Pray for me