2am
nothing good happens
after 2 am- late night write
saved by haiku
HOUR THREE: BEFORE DARKNESS
flick the switch, dim the day
close the lids, tilt the earth
leave the city, long to stay
get back the color, eyes closed, before birth
find a hole to dig, a building to build
get caught in an implosion
pour concrete til the bath is filled
hold breath, eyes closed, on the floor of the ocean
pick up black out blinds, storm shutters
eye masks of a kind, ignore the others
gathered around the light
who stand, eyes closed, backs to the night
Music
Listening to music is magical,
It takes you many places.
It gets in your head
And is seen on many faces.
It bring back memories of olden times,
It’s the only way you remember the rhymes.
It helps to soothe and calm you,
It helps to rev and move you true.
Its great to hear and be taken back,
If you only listen!
Before Darkness
Before darkness, I am lazy. Motivation eludes me and creativity dwindles Into an abyss of uncontrolled wanderings, that I am ashamed telling you. Why am I fighting the lies, why can’t I just show the best of me, like everyone else? Because when the light comes out, I lose my will, my independence, my ability, to think for myself. The sun has come out, the rain no longer holds me prisoner in the confines of my house, the depression is at bay. So I do not hold myself to my standards anymore and I either forget or pretend to forget to write a poem a day..a short story a day. A chapter a day no longer is my goal, my goal is just to exist, to soak up the sun, to chill with people who aren’t that important, to forget who I am as a writer, a person bound by the creativity engrained within her mind and her heart. To create is to exist on the highest form of my conscienceness. I am half a person when i do not create every day, several times a day, and still, I am complacent.
This condition called complacency afflicts many human beings, and I am no different. Do I call myself a statistic? Isn’t it bad enough that as a biracial female living in America means that I must be 10 times better than my Caucasian counterparts in order to succeed? Whether I see the stars wink at me in the moonlight or the clouds drift by in the sunlight, I know my reality. It took 30+ years for the first African-American or Latina female to win the Olympics. It took 2 centuries for the first African-American President to become a reality. I was one out of two people of color who interned in corporate america this past summer out of an intern group of 25 participants. And still, it is not enough.
That’s what I tell myself whenever people congratulate me on my accomplishments. It’s not enough.
That’s why I sometimes feel slightly ashamed that I do not do that one poem/short story a day like I promised myself.
As a biracial female, I will never be enough for this world. This is my reality, before and after darkness.
Enough… already
Accommodating
loving
Approval seeking
giving
Rescue needed
helpful
Pleasing
easy going
Self sacrificing
supportive
Contorted to fit
perfection
Loss of self
you are my world
The language that I speak
Wanting nothing more than you to love me
Seeking to find it through losing myself
But those days are over
I am strong and courageous
I am interesting and unique
My faults accent my beauty
And at the end of the day
I AM ENOUGH.
Before Darkness
Before Darkness
There is a moment of sunshine
A moment ot rain
A moment that makes you forget about pain
A moment where nothing in this world matters more than where you are
A moment where you can let your imagination take you far
But when the darkness comes
You’re never fully prepared
You never see it coming
but you know it when it gets there
It’s hard to breathe
Hard to eat
Hard to smile
but easy to sleep
When darkness comes
know that it won’t last
someone once told me…
This too shall pass
#3 Before Darkness
before darkness,
the beautiful light,
like candle light,
your face softened somehow
the weariness of life lifted
anticipation of rest before another day
before darkness
he put on the beekeeper’s suit
pulled the netting over his face
and headed out to the back of the garden
gathering caps in his non-descript pail
and bringing them inside
in the kitchen he setup the caps
to drain of their sweet nectar on the counter
capturing the golden flow
emptying what he wanted most
eventually, the caps emptied
he washed them
and washed them again
then placed them on the stove in a pot and melted them
straining the melted wax through the cheesecloth he kept in the pantry
being careful not to burn himself
wax, pliable imagination
wet and wondering
he poured into the old canning jars
after tacking a wick inside on the bottom
and stretching the wick over a pencil laying across the open top
like a serpent jumping out of the warm wax bath he had made
after the wax dried
he removed the pencil
and lit wick
you think he has created a candle
or light
but not exactly
the light brushes up against the darkness
making the darkness visible
finally
giving the darkness meaning
darkness, a womb for light
darkness, waiting for light
before darkness there was darkness
waiting for its name
Before Darkness
I veiled my face to hide the blemishes
And hushed the demons that peeped through crevices
I would wait before I could shed my skin
And join brotherhoods akin
I will lie and cherish it before darkness
And then revel in starkness.