24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
I am imprisoned
Do not be alarmed
Just hear my commission
And plea for no harm
The lock to my prison
Is not one you would know.
A key will not work
At least, not the kind that shows
I am the lock,
I am also the key
I am imprisoning myself
Until I can learn how to be free.
I longed to walk among you as a child.
You were sophisticated, sparkly, and accomplished.
Living adventures I so desperately wished were real.
Small town or big city, it didn’t matter.
I grew up, stuck in the unseen world of not knowing how to break free.
I could never seem to find the right door, so I created my own.
Seen only by a few, still unseen by the majority.
Stuck in a world I wanted to crawl out of, always on the outside looking in.
Trapped in a body that can’t be still, my neurons constantly misfiring.
Trapped in a body that is failing, no matter the rigorous training I put it through.
I count the minute hands of every clock, waiting for it to implode.
This is not life.
My dragon flies by night
His eyes shine with a fiery light
He follows the stars
No matter how far
And disappears by morning’s first light.
My Poetry
My poetry is a fastball, sailing
through the wind, 93 miles per hour, slicing
the air like a child’s paper plane.
It flies until it hits the batter’s mouth,
causing blood to seep out of teeth’s new holes,
gushing to the ground, the way I bleed poetry.
My poetry is the ambulance rushing
through the crowds, racing to save the one.
As the bandage is placed, and all is healed,
he forgets the scab that used to be, fears
the one that is to come. He soaks in a bath,
peels it off his skin, embraces my words.
apply liberally
last night my friend asked me if i had explored the area that i’m staying in this summer
Emory University
Druid Hills
surrounded by white, liberal domesticity
i said yes
explained the trauma of last june that happened down the street from where i’m living now
perfectly landscaped lawns
colorful flowers carefully arranged
only for their neighbors consumption
don’t look too suspicious walking through their neighborhood
don’t look too Black
don’t look too poor
too other
if you stop long enough you won’t smell roses
but you can smell the stench left from the murder of indigenous people
the irony of a ‘black lives matter’ yard sign in a gated community
we know you hunt us here
irony of a “no hate welcome here” sign paired with an american flag
like it’s not american borders & american ice agents that are separating (re:murdering) families
like it’s not america funneling money into the israeli state
i should’ve said
what is their to familiarize myself with
i should’ve said
they don’t want me here anyway
Looking out the frosted car window
to that shining orb of light
in the dark, dark sky
the winding mountain path
and trees I have no idea
what to call
I reach out my hand
I don’t know why
to grasp it and the cool window
thwarts my effort
not that it meant something in the first place
though now i have someone
something to blame.
They gave us a song prompt for this hour. I used Neon Gravestones by Twenty One Pilots
Your love was strong;
your resolve was stronger.
You hid from your thoughts
til you could no longer.
You spoke of the darkness
but not of yourself.
You brought me joy
as days passed by.
I never thought
you’d say goodbye.
For who’d suspect,
my darling friend,
that you would meet
this gruesome end?
You told me that
there was no hope
and so you chose
to let life go.
The hole you dug
and fell inside,
you hid from us
with smiling guise.
Those we love most
we forget to tell.
I let you go
and then you fell.
h.e.m.
Two black bags neatly packed
Soft like the sunset
Bitter like Regret
There on the hillside,
Bright like their eagerness
Present like egress
Travelers meet disrupted
Sudden like the limelight
Fiery like it burns bright
Bother, they both preferred it solo….
The ancestors built it with the sweat from their backs
Eyes full of tears, waiting for years
For a compensation that will never be received
Fought in every war for freedom, but denied his own
Viewed like animals, shot down like dogs in the street
To rot for hours in 90 degree heat
Protests and marching, marching and beat
Black fists raised high for all to see
Respect must be given, I am a man too
Instead fear was the feeling that permanently ensued
Every win was tainted with the sting of deceit
Cointelpro, Patriot Act and the Crime Bill of ’94
History rewritten to hide deeper what’s been hidden
Working full-time to lock out an entire people
This is the view from within the ghettos
Spaces and places where being locked out is known and grows
At night when I cry you are there for me
You listen and take it all in.
In the morn’ when you cry, I am there for you.
I listen and take it all in.
We each take turns patching holes in the seams,
of our cute little boat on the seas.
Our boat is messy and half-sunk most times,
but it is entirely the boat of my dreams.