Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

4.8.17
from dusk to dawn

I just wanna be with you right now, when I move this slow I can see the stars come through my room, its like a flame not a light, nothing too soft something like burn like desire like you’re my desire, like so quick, like can you see how fast this feeling catches on to things, people, like things and people, like, since when did people become possession , like who is your possession , no one, this feeling has flamed out and sparked a different kind of light, its not always that bright this clear to see, in the night sky, the night sky, I tell myself its going to be okay, there have been days where I have watched the sun disappear into the abyss of the night forgetting to eat, I have to remind myself to eat, my body doesn’t want to understand this heightened sense of sensitivity, doesn’t like that being this unstable to anxiety is leaving this body wasted into nothing, looking at opportunities has become a burden, unsure of how long this kind of illness can exist, cease to been felt this much, how you smile at kin when they ask if you’re okay, when they ask about that job, one shift, 4 hours no sleep, what happened, and you tell them, you don’t like the way human beings have learnt to bury their belief of you in them, how tight it is to breathe such an invisible noose, under these stresses, mass anxiety is a build up of a house on fire, your body is lit up from all the judge, only to blow smoke in their face you don’t remember thinking yourself so much worth, don’t remember giving yourself in their safe keeping in their palms closed, four corners with no exit what else did they expect when you watch the words judge, you, others leave their mouth is when you watch their body deflate and swear you could almost make out the words rested in the creases of their face you didn’t ask for this, you didn’t see this kind of opportunity coming, you didn’t know how else to break down but you were not going to allow all this hard work around so much love for an illness that is not ready for this world how he, was so careless to pain that can not be seen, don’t know the intensity of words protested, this world is not ready to aid this kind of illness, still learning about its malaise and all you can do is smile and take care of this body learn, it to heal even when they see you as weak, as give up, you’re a silenced savior to your own body, this kind of hero would be too much for them, they are not ready for you yet.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

2.8.17
Save

I have this really overwhelming feeling that’s doing what it does best when anxiety starts to hit it can only watch and position to catch this kind of stardust, so many times has it been this much only to forget how much it has been save, been hero, forgot too often about its wings, forgot too often about god, see the word forgive in your eyes, this body, this body forgives the mind, not unwanted anymore only heal, late night no sleep, woke mind eased at the attempts of sister sister, calling out her name like all this air, surrounding self with all this feeling could choke on such intensity doesn’t understand that this is too much for me to handle sometimes, and remedy, remedy isn’t here sometimes, I want to be caught by love, I want love to want to catch me, call out my name and cling to the curves on this body, to want this body a blessing come from god to me, from me to you, you’re a blessing in love-, I am afraid of what it means to love a healing body that knows her truth, with the fabled mind that only knows how well it tricks, and a heart weak at love, words that are too beautiful for this world can’t see the lines in between, so sweet the taste is what I imagine it to taste nothing like, still, waiting on words that have motion that come correct with a kind of body that knows not to take a true self for granted, soon, I am whispered, in soon.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

24.7.17 | 26.7.17 | 27.7.17
Beautiful

Do you see, how we have been taught to cower at mirrors the way we shy away from this kind of creation, how the roots of our hair is to deify gravity, how we been conditioned by a system that likes to keep us in trend, wanting to learn our hair matched to theirs but never these roots, never these kinks, do you see, the ways we’ve been told how this skin should never know flowers, such beauty is unattainable, starting with these shades, do you see, hidden between compliments that are snatched right back after its been taking from the back of our throats, the ways in which we see this skin has affected the how we live this life, unapologetic, soft, fire, black, woman, that there is nothing wrong with feeling like you’re beautiful everyday, sneak kisses into this body so it knows true love from within, to know how this body hugs you back is to know how to love yourself first, when you witness its secrets like petals that fall into your palms, is one of the most beautiful photosynthesis there is, how we can see love glimmer in loves eyes the way they are careful with their words, mention them as sweet, and honest, in the same sentence as much as it demands, you have never, been pretty for a black girl, don’t listen to these kinds of poison dipped potions, this skin has been strong, and shackled to never to brake at those who don’t understand its nooses, that having this type of history, that knows how back bone from the lines measured identity in vines of our hands means, to be able to reach out and grab this kind of love back, this kind of unity, self love, and care can never be known by just anybody, you’re permission and solution in your own matched womanhood, see this alive the way we look at words like love, like self, like care, beauty, kind, like identity, like and still black, be the persona of woman that is this much magic to her own reflection, undone, from those who peel back at this skin not knowing how much love it has taken to be bright light shine, back at the mirror in front of her, in front of you, bare all your secrets sheen enough for those who are deemed magic bliss, glimpse this being a shooting star miracle from her birth right which is to see how far you have come all on your own, do you see, how your reflection is magic, your existence is defiance, that you have always been this kind of woman.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

12.7.17 | 13.7.17
Black Woman (self,..black women before and now.)

About this self, about how this body is blessing, is all this woman, is a careful result of rituals self-love, how it resonates and resurrects with this kind of illness, is a anxious body learning to call its scared oasis defiant, for the way it learns to yield at this entrenched state of mind, there aren’t many instances this body gets to feel this kind of solidarity, in a room filled with this kind of love, so used to being expelled at words that know how well we sit crossed and armed, we must teach each other how to use our inherited the way we like to keep this body safe and honest, teach its complexities to ourselves so we can unlearn its unauthorized cycle, that we don’t always have to be this pretty to know this kind of broken, how each woman can be both, can be this beautifully broken and still call it healing, not ashamed of being this kind of woman, that strong isn’t always barley seen, I am no strange to the familiar way this melanin is strummed and dipped in a different kind of beauty, called and shackled by those who taint its shade for palatable, easy to taste but never worth its full feast, how this skin is a movement for the way we look at our black skin, has always been beautiful, the way this natural has always played against the rules, they have always something to say about the way they appropriate, I mean take, I mean brake, I mean black women, we come together and unit to sugar cane, endlessly teasing the largest star in the sky, how we bleed this kind of woman, words that speak ancestral lineage, unfinished and untold voices that will never anchor at those who attempt to cease what black womanhood before us have taught deep into the system, how we have been taught that strength comes from the way black women who have fought for black woman rise even after us, Maya AngelouΒ says, there is no agony like bearing an untold story inside of you, how Rosa Parks called on us, to remind this black body of woman is agency, for this type of unity, said, all great achievements require time, and still do we witness black women who are living these prophecies in stated greatness, Viola Davis, Taraji p Henson, Janelle Monae all these black women who are reflections of such trinity, queens, handing down wisdom in all types of empowerment, reminding black women that we are the worlds tempest living out dreams, fables that can not be bound so easy, make enough loud to show this world we are here, we have always been, here, and guarded, of fight.

Poem: Melody of Being Animate

21.6.17
keep me (beautiful weakness..)

I might care for you more than you’re willing, able to feed this body with the love I have drowned you into its own meaning, you’re the first and last thought I think about, and its frightening when I think you’re ever leaving, I reminisce so much of the way you speak, remembering words that have been beauty marked into my heart, this fear of loving is making me unable to show you too much of the ways in which I have missed so much of you, it’s tiring, loving when you’re afraid of the receivers response to this intense feeling, this kind of longing is no temporary sensation, the eyes have watched you long enough to miss the way you have been seen into this body, a beautiful weakness, I want to be an intense feeling bind your words to my heart, keep your body close to the mind so you’re unable to live without its warmth, love you the way flames feel when you get too close, I want to melt in your arms long enough to be called yours, you’re a beautiful weakness, and I love the way you form words that are as soft as the way you want to indulge me, keep me safe, I want to be all yours.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

19.6.17
life..(interlude..)

A welcomed conversation, how often do we get to sit this comfortable and witness the mind this open, do not forget about its illness it is a valuable asset to its existence, it is no disciplined definition, it is a diffident kind of love, we are still learning to exist with its interference’s, learning fearlessness from back bone, and fluid flowing into our stream, how often are we welcoming and welcomed of uncomfortable, do we accept its way of healing and slowly allow the word love to grace the mimic of our mouth, let the sun light in, you have been gone too long, been seen too often of room dimmed in candle lit long enough just to be called empty, you’re not empty, remember this heart, has been beating for every kind of love so many times there is no limit to selflessness, and the mind constantly having to be hero for the way this body beautifies, and how the body has learnt to hide behind broken so beautifully, we are only here to exist as we want, as we choose so careless to its boundaries, who needs constraints when you have found the absolute in living each day, when you’re hero each day-, thank you for reading this, I hope we can do this again sometime.

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

14.06.17 | love song (bind me to you..need)

“..what does the body do when it has found a way to solve heart beats, it doesn’t know how to catch this feeling and learn to let it go so easily, this feeling, has found a way to stay in this body, can’t call it uninvited, how do you do that, make it feel like you’re the only one who can make it feel like this body needs, you, when you control do you mean the way the mind has also fallen-, linger, no, stay here longer, I am slowly binding my words to match yours instead of losing them in your eyes I want to lose them somewhere along the same intensity of what you love, somewhere permanent, I want you to need this entirety.”

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

8.6.17 | 9.6.17. Dreaming Fable (you’re..)

I mime fables that have been seen of this salem, silent in the dark, that sit with the night sky and watch the stars fill its vacancy, a distilled memoir, that glimmers awakened dreams, it has never been about forgetting how to love, but it has always wished on the stars enough to make it real, to never forget that this kind of magic is crafted into all our bodies and we are left to spell it back once it has finished manifesting into our souls long enough to breathe its wild back to love, a spell bound feeling, that is the mirrored shooting star reality of our distilled dreams

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

7.6.17
Hurting.

What do you do when you can physically feel your body ashing its bones from the inside, you know this feeling too often always uninvited and doesn’t leave until it has made sure you have tried dying at least once, when you have this illness, that likes to eat your body from the deepest parts of its pain and you don’t understand where it found the courage to find it without letting you know first, this illness, likes to keep secrets and never tell this body how to fix its accidents, leaves the body feeling like it is ready to die from its own failure of not being able to locate its demise, how do you sit with something that is trying to kill you slowly, when you’re suffering on your own you are almost forced to witness a death right before your eyes without love knowing you were even there, without family knowing how much it hurts because this kind of pain doesn’t just come with broken bones crunched to dust taken by the empty in this shell of a beautiful body, its so much harder to breathe when you’re not sure if the air you’re breathing is worth living, I was 10 when I first wanted to take my own breath, not long after attempting to see what it would look like to show my mother what it feels like to bleed her words, I imagined flooding this room with all my pain to maybe understand how this body was feeling, to feel better, to stop the pain, I just wanted it all to stop, I didn’t understand why it was coming for me in this kind of cold and loving way, I was 20 when I realized that the words I wrote down were a ransom from this illness, this body is being held hostage, and the heart is barley fighting to stay alive, how to rescue yourself internally when you can’t even save yourself in your living reality, what kind of jaded mood stays for this long, I was 21 when I asked for help, wanted someone to come help me because I didn’t know how to do it first, I was so confused about how this illness attacks this body the way the word enemy comes to the tip of my tongue telling this body words that aren’t true, weakening the heart to confuse abuse for love, you are no hero when this illness comes to surface and claws at every single part of this good body, this bleeding heart, the ache, of numbing the body in a whole is to forget you’re even existing, that you’re alive, this illness likes to drag my body to its absolute and watch it scramble to get back up, and all the heart can do is tighten at the bodies attempt, scared this illness will come for it next, the souls are no where to be found, I am left to save this body alone, just me, who can save this body but me, I am the only one vacant every breath you’re not here when the body has whispered how many times it has given up, and how the heart weeps a flood of pain, you can’t feel this feeling to this intensity don’t sit there and tell me you understand help me, tell me you can help me, that its all going to be okay, that it doesn’t have to be like this, tell me I will get better, that I don’t have to live with this illness bruising this body enough to call them part of this body, I don’t want these wounds, you hear people talk about selflove and how they have not found it, people like me, have not found self love they talk about it like its so close, like its almost in their hands, where, help me find it, I need to find it, Im so scared that one day my body will have enough the heart will be silenced and mute to its own pain and this illness will convince the body to go to sleep forever, a solution, maybe, how do you fix yourself from the inside with an illness bearing teeth at each attempt you can not win this way, help me

Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

4.6.17
Black magic (hero.)

Cotton picked finger tips, skin kissed by the sun turning shades of this good earth, slavery is no forgotten sawn metamorphosis of its own history, how far have we come, even in these early future can black skin still feel lashes of words that sip poison down their bigotry with words that have been used by colonizers too vividly dose this black skin witness two souls when they gauge this kind of spoken evil, are we called too sensitive or too loud, can we not both exist and be hero in this skin, are we not allowed to praise what has been forbidden, do we become the punch lines, unapologetic has been, two too many times have I had to teach the learning’s of the word nigga, watch it leave foreign land, foreign voices do we adjust to its trend, which is to say do you mean the way black is still a casualty, when the world wants to wipe you out do you still abide to trend, must you become hero, god like powers must be mother earth, this tsunami of ancestry blood bitter sweet, to the pronunciation of the word nigga glocks out of their fingertips as I watch this mind decolonize friendship, the word nigga has only one heart brake, do not slay its vibe in the same mood as missing out on a new fad, these syllables have been engraved into so many oppressions you have no right to take it and miss use its pronunciation with that mouth concealed in split tongue Β you can not have this blood, this good hair and this skin, we have been had, glock ready since we been watching hero from hero tear away at these chains and call it healing, these cotton picked tips, skin kissed by the sun turning shades of this good earth, we are not forgotten, you have not yet witnessed hero enough, watch it, we are roots that can not stop growing from our own pain, you have not learnt about this kind of unstoppable black magic, so watch it well, we’re not done bleeding ink to match our words