on the days i miss her most

I can remember watching my mom take off her wig at the end of some days and how she’d just stare at her reflection.

Of course being as young as I was I didn’t understand fully what breast cancer was doing to her or why she had to put her hair on her head

But what I do remember was thinking how beautiful she looked when she stood there-bare and exposed.

How I wish I could travel back to that exact moment as the adult I am now and just hug her-and thank her for indirectly teaching me to love the bare and exposed parts of myself

For those parts are where the hidden meanings are waiting to be found…

remember me as your wordsmith

and if nothing else, i want to be remembered as a wordsmith

let them know that i was able to take different words cut from the same cloth

and made them fit every body of work my fingers ran across

See while i know that i am pretty

the way you look when you love me is beautiful

and when i see her smile i can picture nothing more alluring

i fight for love as hard as i do because there is beauty in this beast

and watching you move the way you do to the sounds of the rain-

there is no question that you are the belle of the ball

girl back then.

When I was younger I stood in the mirror and wondered who the girl was staring back at me

I questioned the color of my skin and if it was the reason I didn’t fit in

I told myself that I’d tell those who deemed me undeserving that I hate my skin too

And maybe then I’d be cool enough to be picked first

Or at least getting picked last wouldn’t hurt as much

And maybe if I drew straight lines on my skin I’d appear to be straight too

Because being black and bisexual is a death sentence I can’t complete

Do they make keys strong enough to keep the part of me that wanders locked away

What do I say when they question my silence

What shade of eyeshadow would hide my crying

There isn’t a dictionary big enough to help me find a phrase to accessorize my uncertainties

And quite frankly I’m done trying

If I could talk to that girl back then

I’d tell her to love the color of her skin

To hell with the judgements of those who’ve never stood trial

And never to hide from who she is within


Seems I am the strongest, when I dress up in all the things that have caused me pain

And the rain falls a little harder on the days I decide to water my own garden

The world seems to think my light shines the brightest on the days I live in the dark

This land has been marked as the place where I can feel pretty

I built this city on top of cuts and bruises

Then rinsed my blood in the river that surrounded me

poetically viewed

i tend to avoid eye contact because of the extra hours my eyes put in

as if employee of the month was its birthright

there is no simplicity in having different views

the stars have never easily aligned

two days ago we passed a street and you noticed an empty field
well not that empty--it had become home for the remnants of what used to be
and then you said to me that it was horrible to leave such a sight on display
and then you questioned my face and why it appeared as if i disagreed
well o yes, indeed. you do know me so well
that very same spot is where a home stood right before it fell
if you silence your disgust you'd hear the memories calling out to you
listen to the floorboards squeak as it hid footsteps walking in past curfew
the arguments that kept us up
and the apologies we all slept through
that bag of bones once had love coursing through its veins
one mans trash poetically viewed will always be another mans treasure

the epiphany i wasn’t expecting but am embracing

I had hoped you’d say you remembered

It was the last needle I compromised myself to thread

It was at that moment I let go of the metaphorical cliff that 

happened to look just like your promises

Or maybe the cliff got tired of me holding on

Maybe you broke them on purpose

The uncertainty of who let go first

did nothing to the speed at which I was falling

Free falling through the song that played in the background

The soundtrack to our demise

The more you talk about how it isn’t me but you

The more the music grows louder and my hearing improves

There are parts of this song I’ve never heard before

Moments I’ve never touched

Verses that were once foreign now speaking my language

Harps that harped on and on about the beauty that’s in the beholder

Then came the bridge

A bridge I had never crossed before

The trumpets carried me over and then the piano started to play

And once it hit the key that opened up my locked heart

Everything made sense

The sound of me breaking brought me through a lyrical journey 

included with instructions on how to put me back together

Make no mistake I am sobbing–but not because I lost you

But because the epiphany that sat waiting in the pit of me

Finally woke up and showed me where I’m meant to be

And it’s definitely not here with you….


the hands of time have carried me

through decades of change

on some walls you can still

feel the pain i left behind

as i clung to the moments

i didn’t want to let go

until the girl i left behind whispered

“let go”

the difference in a decade

air feels different

when breathing it in for the second time

my footsteps are lighter now that

i don’t carry the weight of the world

bury your pain into the soil beneath you

water it with the sadness of letting go

then evolve into who you were meant to be…