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.