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.