I Burn

I am enthralled by him...the man
He is the keeper of my eyes that are stuck to his physique
The rigid care of how he loves mixed with the war weapons he carries across his mind and heart
The taste of his inflamed passion dripping onto my flesh when I open up my flower to him
And the way he commands the demons of the earth to crumble into a grey ash while I'm under his halo of protection.
I love the man.
He is God's whisper.
He is the rough plant in a desert that harbors the cool water to quench my raging thirst.
A stony path towards paradise filled with every atom of the universe that align perfectly to make him.

A fire churns inside of me; its smoke lifting me up to a higher spiritual elevation when I gaze upon the invisible outline of his soul.
It shines like platinum and it roars loader than an African lion.
I love the man.
I love holding him and I love looking into his eyes and seeing the lineage of kings from which he comes.
Sometimes I can't help but become infatuated with how the moon circles around his head and how the stars are the footprints of his steps.
I need his masculine essence to compliment my inner Eve.

My world is colored by his fingerprints and my heart explodes into fire works when he kisses me.
He is too good to be called art because of his mastery of forming me out from his own rib.
I will dance on the flames and hot coals of my desire just to touch his skin.
I will go deaf to every wave vibration through a medium if only I can just hear the sound of his voice.
I will carry his seed to the very depths of this brown earth so I can give birth to his diamonds.
ALL I WANT TO DO IS MAKE LOVE TO HIM...over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over---
I can see the God that we both worship through the works of his hands and the stealth of his mighty spirit.
He carries the bow and arrow engulfed with a fire that he shoots in my direction to consume me.
Every time I look into his eyes, I see the way I burn from just the mere sight of him.
I fear him because he is just too much of a masterpiece; only worthy of respect.

The warrior in him makes me fall into the ocean of his heart like a helpless damsel.
And my safe haven is my head upon his chest.

I love the man.
And I quake with the very imaginings of him as I bring him forth into reality.
An heir to whatever he desires, works for, and accomplishes
Ode to the man.
He is encompassed with honor from the mouths of the mystical beings that bathe in the light of his energy.
Sincerely, the woman.

Ground Zero

I can witness the blood dripping from your heart-ache
The battle scars in the form of piercings and tattoos vomited across the stomach and lower back
Your hair, dark and long like a waterfall; surrendering to pliable curls that lay aside your cheeks
Cupping your beautiful face and full red lips and tear glazed eyes, soaking the black mascara on your eye lashes.

I can see the way you walk and move your hips from side to side
Like a swing set on an empty, childless playground, trying to grow out of the rest of your innocence.
You briefly stare at the men who pass you, hoping that they will notice that you're not invisible
You wear your breasts out as to block anyone from seeing the ugliness that you feel on the inside
You rape yourself in the mirror, violating your body down to the inner core with the verbal sharp daggers that carry the repetitive words of "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Why can't I be more..."

Your relationships are like pharmacies; there to give you medication to numb the pain
Every bit of sex and orgasm is mistaken for a piece of love that is here, then gone in seconds.
Like the wind, you blow into one reality to another that's make believe
Dreaming of the day when your shadow turns into flesh and blood and brilliance and purpose and light--only for you to wake up to late periods and pregnancy scares.

I've been there...

I have x-ray vision that can see past your physical attractiveness and appeal
Your desperate attempt to fall in love with the wrong man so that he can validate the unworthiness that you feel deep within the core of your being.
All of the make-up that you wear is nothing but a concealer of all the scars that you try to cry away every morning when you rise; trying to cloak yourself not knowing how much the sun loves to make you glitter
The clicking of your heels are really shards of glass falling and breaking off of your fragile frame of mind
And the tightness of your skirt only a band-aid to keep the hurt from seeping out like a lose window pane, trying to hold back the rain.
I can see it. Because I was once that girl who was looking for herself in the images of magazines.
Cutting out pieces of air brushed and warped paper faces, thighs and stomachs
Then closing my eyes to make a wish that I could become...Beautiful. Skinny. Sexy. Attractive. Fuckable.

I know what emptiness feels like...It feels like skipping meals.
The hunger, gnawing at your chest; not realizing that those are the silent screams for love and affirmation from teenage boys and grown men that are old enough to be your daddy.
Emptiness feels like finger prints on the mirror; trying to draw yourself a perfect mouth or nose
No sight of a kiss mark...
Emptiness feels like a broken angel's wing that has lost hope of ever reaching the heavens again
And you try to sew it up with fake finger nails and torn hymens
Projectile vomiting the inner sunshine that has been gifted upon you in exchange for looking like the next video girl...all in the name of being worshiped.

I know. And I can see the cyclone of storms dancing within the iris of your eyes
And how the acid of pain has destroyed and decomposed you to ground zero.
There's nothing left but fantasies on what true love feels like...and not enough of what it really is.
You remain high off of every man's desire to squeeze your hips against his pelvis
You flirt, and you smile, and you flirt, and you smile, and you turn away...hoping that someone will  follow you in hot pursuit. And when they do...you want to be reminded of how rare and precious you are even though you feel like the equivalent of spat on trash.

I know. And as I walk past you, smelling your sweet perfume diffusing off into the air,
I'll tell you that you're beautiful even though my words would probably echo inside you as if I was standing in front of a dark cave;
Not absorbing the vibration of the sounds translated into meaning. But when it finally does, let it be the first brick you build for a new castle. Something lovely and entirely you. Your own piece of heaven built upon the foundation of new found royalty...and she sits on the throne made up of crystalline glass; diamonds from the riches that she thought she never had...until the day she claimed herself to be...a queen.

What's My Name?

Push against the walls of my lined paper
Until the ink spills out of this metallic pen; exorcised love juice from the tip
As I sip from the words birthed from my lips it drips onto my hand, fueling me to write...faster
...harder...more! What's my name?
Scribble it down across my chest so my heart could read it
Invisible spells that hypnotize my mind as it sees it move throughout my body like an orgasm
The desire to spread this verbal energy like metastasis across the bare wall of virgin minds
Fill my lines, flip the page, spread my soul across an ocean of pleasure that is translated into rhymes.
Try and find me hidden deep within the context clues of my thoughts
Read me. Make words to me. Feel that ish, like the blind who depend on vibration.
Hunger for me like starvation.
Tell me that you like it...when I go crazy with my extended vocabulary and uses of metaphors and similes.
In case you didn't know, I want you to be a part of me like fire and heat
Make you weak in the knees with just one blow of my insanity
Snatch your breath away like I just stole your right to air
Run you out like someone who forgot the cab fare
In exchange for your addiction to my ever expanding need to just have you listen
...listen to me
Embrace the co-dependency for our survival in a world that isn't right
Let's write together, forever and get intoxicated; drunk off of one another's pain and pleasure
Mixed with the whatever's and somewhat's and the not so black and white of our lives
Push against the walls of my lined paper
Read in between the lines of my words and essence that has kissed the face of adversity
What's my name? Scribble it down across my chest so that my heart could read it.
And so that I can become what I have always been...a writer in disguise...a lover of my pen.

Boys

I'm not interested in...boys

Give me a man that can hold me down

Who can rock the earth with strong fingers digging into the ground

I like the ones who can hold me on their shoulder and their masculinity on the other

Who knows how to walk with his back straight and talk like the god that he is

With his dirty, work-swollen hands resting on my thigh; anticipating what's gonna be his

Who wants a strong woman with a fire that can burn down walls and melt his own heart

A man that can implant a strong seed of truth and knowledge; not just babies

Whose word is his bond, but with an awareness of imperfection

Who can say that he loves me without saying a word

That can build up walls of protection around me and the ones who call him daddy.

A man who can submit to God

A man that I can respect

A freak, a spiritual leader, and a friend all in one.

Who loves his mom, honors his father, and who knows himself

Who holds up the letters that make "I AM" with a picture of his spirit behind it.

Secret Lives

A tip toe into darkness or into light
A slipping of the eye towards another existence
A fulfillment of one's true nature that was once withheld
Another reality opposing the dream that is now

Express Lane

God, here is my list.

Don't forget to double check it.

These are the things that I want to get done.

I want only one child, only that, just one.

Right after I say my wedding vows

At the good ole' age of 30, but not now.

Send my future husband this way.

I don't really want to wait, can I have him today?

And right after I get my PhD

I'd like a really nice job and a house--would you, please?

I want all of this by the time I'm thirty-two

Then, I'll credit all of my success to you.

Maybe I'll start a business or write a few books

And by the time I'm 50, don't let me lose my looks!

By 65 I'll definitely be ready to retire

 I'll pack my things, fulfilled but tired.

My child would have gone to college and started their career.

I'll be on the beach drinking an ice, cold beer.

By 70 I'll be old, but still strong as ever.

Enjoying my family and our holidays together.

From then on out, do with me as you wish.

But please, oh please you must go faster than this!

I have so much to do, in so little time.

God, my clock is ticking, but I don't mean to whine.

It's just that life is short, as I'm sure you know.

How in the world am I going to finish my goals?

I want a career, a family, a house, and a car.

Why on earth does these seem so far?

And one more thing that I forgot to mention.

Could you speak to me audibly, so that I may listen?

Unique

Smooth, brown skin with dark pebbled, almond eyes

Long lashes with full lips

Long legs with small hips

Black, matted hair; my long locs

Toned, elongated arms attached to beautiful, strong shoulders.

Warm, peculiar face.

Like the spine of a cat, I stretch and my body curves.

The Thing I Miss

My eyes staring back at me in the mirror without seeing a reflection of a mask

My shirt unbuttoned and my hair lose, just to appreciate my rawness

The tender skin of my cheek resting on my knee

Being under the tall, lush tree in my back yard

Appreciating the smell of late spring filling my senses

Walking barefoot on earthy pavement without feeling any guilt

But these things do not compare to what I miss the most

What I miss the most is an understanding of who I am

An intimate relationship with my own heart and mind

Playing in the wild jungles of the world instead of searching in them

Loving who I am as I did when I was small

When I was small, I feared nothing; not even myself.

That is the thing I miss the most. 

I Can Feel this Thing (Poem)

I can feel this thing called "wind"

The wind of change is wrapping its arms around me

It's whispering in my ear saying "now, you can blossom"

How did it know that it was buried deep in my soul?

How did it know that I needed it to shine out like morning dawn through mists?

Finally, I can begin the process of sweeping out the mess from my temple

Now, I can breathe; lifting my head from underneath the water

The dark cloud has lifted and I've decided to continue living in spite of hurt.

Happiness is a choice.

I can feel this thing...

Poem: Dark Skin, Kinky Hair

They ask why do I present myself in a manner

But I can't get any tanner

Cause' I was born with this skin

My soul is within and that's what I truly represent

Should I repent because of the way I look?

Should I resent all the scars that my people took?

What I see in the mirror, it can't get any clearer that I have dark skin and kinky hair

Yeah, others may stare

But I'm gorgeous on and underneath

All that matters is what's underneath this sheet; this skin

They lend me their comments on why my hair's not straight

They give me their bate, expecting me to take it

But I'll just break it because they don't know me...

All they could see is my dark skin and kinky hair

But I don't care, even though others may snare

Because my afro puff is my crown and my dark skin a gown that's forever stuck to me

A gift made of shining ebony

I wear it constantly no matter where I go and no matter where I be

Thieves are out to steal my joy

But they can't have it cause' I'm a warrior; African princess, they try to resist this

So they market relaxers; contractors for hiding my identity.

When all I want to be is me; A woman of dark skin and kinky hair

Without it I'm bare

So many cares on making straight roots

But I choose to keep my naps

They're my caps of natural beauty

So tired of us being defined by just our booty

Big breasts and hips

That's what you see on video clips

But what about our hair?

Our blood runs thick like our hair

But what about our hair?

Why should I be ashamed of my black, nappy, kinky hair?

It's a part of who I am; A part of who I be; Deep like the sea

My roots run deep like the sea; My natural hair

Symbolic of nature and metaphorically represents a pureness

Virgin like olive oil

More earthy than underneath the summer grass

So you can ask why I present myself in such a manner

And it's because I was born with this skin

My soul is within and that's what I truly represent

Should I repent or resent who I am as a person--

Because I got dark skin and kinky hair?

Other's may stare and maybe even hate my identity; Because I'm me--

Not an ordinary color of your average rainbow

It's not long and straight down my back but it's a fact that I got kinky hair

It's a part of being black; Afro-American

I...am...Afro-American.

Haiku: Going Through It

I feel dispair on this night

Crying in the dark

I know daybreak is coming

Poem: Still here

I'm still here.

I'm not moving or scurrying away once I see a storm about to come.

I will plant myself and make my own shelter,

Becuase I plan to stay.

I'm rooting myself deep into this soil.

Nothing will scare me away

And nothing has, because I'm still here.

Every day and every waking hour, my soul travels an inch closer to the clouds

I can feel the rain beating against my mind and my will

but I'll continue pushing until---

I say, "enough".

But I'm not satisfied yet.

They say that I'm not going to beat it; beat the enemy within me

But I will tell them with my ventures that I CAN.

/And one day when I stand before God

I'll say, "Of all the things that I did wrong, at least I never gave up trying".

Imperfect Man, Imperfect Daughter

Father, daddy, man that loved me

I realize now how you've always loved me unconditionally

Despite the temper flares and the elevated arguments

I know now that those became my road maps toward success

There was a time when I was nine

When I said that I hated you, because you grounded me on a Friday night

And until that following week, I couldn't leave my room (or watch my favorite shows)

I thought my life was over

But then I remember drinking cold punch from a can in your truck as we rode together on freeways

With the radio turned up loud, screaming Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith

I may not have shown it then, but that was fun.

You were always there, though I know there were days you felt like leaving

Being a family man had its responsibilities

But I dread the thought of your sacrificed happiness to give your children a good start in life

Your soul has become wounded multiple times

Life has become cruel

And sometimes, I catch myself wishing that you lived in a mansion

With a nice car and a big patio

With a green, freshly cut lawn and a plum tree in the backyard (because you like plums).

And all will come and see the rewards that you've reaped (and maybe even envy you)

But those things aren't there...even though I KNOW you deserve it.

Father, daddy, man that loved me...

There aren't enough words to say how imperfect we both are

But through it all, you did a damn good job.

I just wanted to say

Thank you.

Poem: Take Them Back

Take back you notes
Your letters
Your gifts
Your words wrapped up in airy promises
I don't want to look at them
Those "I love yous" don't taste that sweet anymore
And they just sink like a fog unto the ground and glitter like morning dew.
I don't need to be with you; not when we're like this...
So take back your box of pictures and that first kiss.
Put them on the carpet beside the door
Remeber to leave the keys where you left them-- next to my heart
Make your way towards the exit as I make my way out your life.

Poem: Today, I'm a Woman

Today, I'm a Woman

I have my mind and my confidance

I walk with a poise so lovely, even the flowers and the trees envy my stance.

My capacity to love is wide like hips

My lips are thick like the depth of creativity that drips from them

I can move my thoughts and control my destiny.

I am powerful. 

I am a part of my Creator because my Creator lives in me.

Though I am just a particle within the universe, I am significant because I exist.

Nothing can stop me, not even death.

Because my soul can live throughout eternity.

I can change the world for the better and endure pain, though it may hurt.

My body is star kissed; radiating from its atoms; saying that I am good.

I wake up happy. knowing that I am not just anything.

I am not something to abuse, but something to cherish.

Today, I am a woman and tomorrow another woman who knows her worth.

Poem: Blossom

Blossom

Once a child

Now a warrior

One a student

Now the teacher

Once in battle

Now the peacemaker

Once a shadow

Now the light

Once a thorn

Now a rose

Once a foe

Now a friend

Once in hiding

Now I embrace

© Jacqueline Lamar

Poem: I, An Actress

I, an actress

Life is like a stage

A drama with painted faces

Each one a special character

Full of smiles and tear drop traces

Each chapter within my life

I play a particular role

As victim or as victor

Each line a story told.

Through my days, I am an actress

I entertain them all

With sorrowful filled dramas

My life till curtain fall

Through these years, I play

A person, demon, or clown

To entangle the scenes of life

Till death and curtain down.

© Jacqueline Lamar

Poem: I Would've Let You Go

I Would've Let You Go

You should've told me that you wanted to be free

To spread your wings and to fly on your own

So that a love can come your way and warm your core

Instead of me trapping you with my arms around your body

Breathing in your air, not knowing that I am toxic.

Maybe I should've known...

You should've told me that my eyes don't penetrate you like her's

And that they don't interfere with any past doubts and fears

That they are just black diamonds in the distance, not touching you.

You should've told me that your heart belongs to another

That there is nothing that we can do about the situation

And that your mind was set on not returning to me...emotionally

Instead of me over coming your resentment and frustration of my inability to let you loose

So that you can enjoy your life again

That you are special...

Poem: Nappy

Nappy

You, yes you

The coils sprouting from my scalp,

Looking all nappy. But your nappy is good to me.

Of course it’s only your tendency to let me know how much you are a part of me

Because you grow and you’re as fertile as a flower bed

Blossoming into a jungle of care free strands of protein

You are, constantly reminding me of your beauty when rain embraces you

You become wet, but then you relax and soak in the moisture—like the thirsty roots of a tree

And when I sleep, you kiss my forehead and my cheek; embracing my neck with your coarseness

Reminding me of how strong you are, even when my tears sometimes soak you and the pillow both.

My mane…

I love you.