To Malcom x

I am from a Fractured home,

where i watched my mother go crazy before my eyes.

I am built of foster homes:

constructed of unfamiliar beds,

strangers' hands,

foundations of paper work

to hand me down

to the next home.

I am from 7 years behind bars:

concrete walls,

hand cuffs,

uniforms,

a tray of familiar food.

I am from a father of hatred

who liked me best because my skin color was the lightest.

I am from a pilgrimage to mecca

and having a mesage not just for afrian americans,

but for ALL RACES.

I am from four daughters

whom i cannot protect

and a tear stainded wido whim i pray still loves me.

I AM FROM THE TEXT BOOKS

THAT HAVE WRITTEN ME DOWN,

FROM THE PAGES THAT WILL REMEMBER ME ALWAYS

AS A MAN UNAFRAID TO SPEAK THE TRUTH.

i remember

The tall sunflowers dancing in the brezze.

The old house- #160 built on bricks swimming pool in the back ground; the new house that destroyed it- a castle in a fairtale- that stands alone and empty.

Sitting on the porch and watching the summer nights pass.


Swining on the rusted orange swing set and you were by myside.

You chasing after the ice cream truck so i can have that special ice cream.

You comming home in pain from the long doctor visits.

That day we laid you to rest- and people kept telling me it was okay " He's in a better place now"

Begging angry and not understanding why you leftme at such a young age.

Most of all i remember you.

what does it cost?

Telling secrets isnt easy but with you, my words are imbeded onto your lined paper, trappped.
so my body's secret is hatred. hating my body is what made me. eight mile runs still burn my legs and leave my lungs gasping for air. and they say working out relieves your stress.
who are they kidding?
I lose more by staring...
who im dying to be.
what does it cost to watch your mother whimper at the end .....
what does it cost
what does it cost
what does it cost when you're dying to be someone?

devil

The devil is near,
and he is waiting to collect a soul.

He is searching for something
young, vulnerable.

He crouches in these woods,
Spreads himself on this tree –
waiting.

He has been here before,
Curled as a serpent,
Lurking –
temping Eve to touch the glorious fruit.

He has been here before,
A voice in the wind:
“You know you want to.”

And again
He is always right.

alone

Her sheets are lonely at night and to her thats her comfort.
missing him isnt her option its her choice, her heart is wiliting .Those late night phone calls come to an end,
but do you find your self checking your missed call section?
knowing nothing will be there.

Those simple text messages with 11:11pm " make a wish" mean nothing now.
but they ment something to her...

Days left

How many days left?

how many served, till you come home to me with open arms.

How many hours till my heart

opens to you?

Hours till our lips can meet once again

or feel the tears of

rejection if you never appear.

The Dear John, letter

burns a whole in my mail box,

with the words

"I love you but we can never be"

But your heart still belongs to me.

Remember?

Remember those August nights?

Where our love came to be

and our hearts formed as one.

As if we were one person

alone in the universe.

My world is empty without you here..

Now that you're gone

I wish i had a chance to tell you goodbye before they laid you to rest.

But my heart still flies with you like a dove on the wind

Sometimes beautiful things die.

side walks

If sidewalks could talk,

they be telling a thousand stories

stories of hearts entwined in pebbles of time

If side walks would talk

they share stories of joy.sadness. hopes and dreams.

If side walks could talk.......