All posts in poetry

you don’t…

that’s the answer
to most of our questions.

hunny, do i how to
come down if i’m always high
in heels, pills, sex, and booze?
you don’t sweetie.

sweetie, do i love you
if every time i meet a woman
like that (you know, like that)
i have you on my arms?
you don’t hunny.

and on, and on
we tear each other down
it’s our love language

it keeps us together
it keeps us undone

poppa taught me how to fight and i’m daddy’s girl
so i ain’t no bitch, except that bitch

and any trick that steps to me ’bout her man
better watch her knees, before i break ’em

and i’ll try but i won’t, can’t stop myself
from really hurtin’ her by letting her know that
me and her man fucked again last night
laughed again last night, ’bout how curvy she ain’t
’bout how ugly she is

without makeup
as i wear makeup

as i’ve worn makeup
to mask these eyes pops gave me
as he was toughening me up

tough like the black-and-blue leather belt
around my girl’s man’s neck
after he came over, to cum over me
’cause he thought we were gonna
do something or something
for free?!

so he had to get jumped

like how these feelings jump me
when my guard’s down and shit
and they ask, “do you want to be loved?”

by whom nigga?! ’cause men ain’t shit
but a tongue, a dick, and a trick
who thinks she knows her man better than i do

and my man’s friends ain’t shit too
’cause hot girl shit means knowing
every man in my DMs wanna do me like he do
and my man ain’t the hottest in the crew

and you know it’s fuck what you do
it’s where you’re from
and i’m from a house momma couldn’t stand any longer
so she left me alone

and you know it’s fuck who you screw
so where’re your arms
give ’em here, empty your pockets
of more than condoms you’ll never use

and you know it’s watch your p’s and q’s
or these feelings will jump you, like i do
when i find out you’re dumb enough to love me
more than i do

more than they do, your taller friends

and i’ll try but i won’t, can’t stop myself
from really hurtin’ you by letting you know that
me and your friends fucked again last night
laughed again last night, ’bout how ugly you are
’bout how far back your hairline starts

’cause if i don’t deserve to be loved, why do you
get to feel comfortable in your skin, in your man’s walk
that poppa taught me how to emulate just for fun

and poppa made me walk with a lean more than once
and i used to cry, but i don’t anymore ’cause i ain’t no bitch
’cause i ain’t his bitch

but these feelings keep jumping me
every time i put the knife i used to kill him down

the first lesson on appearance

don’t talk too much
don’t smile too often

don’t express your inner universe
with your eyes

and don’t laugh with joy
while complimenting everyone

or the average woman will assume
you’re gay, but closeted

and they’ll friend-zone you
with the kind intention of being
that one friend
that you confide in

and since you mostly can’t
won’t, change a woman’s mind
once she’s made it up

it’s best to avoid them
being wrong about you
and your sexuality

in the first place

but, all of that
all of this is a lot

easier as a man
if you don’t care about
what women think of you

this isn’t a movie

just ask any woman
who’s learnt not to care
about what any man thinks
of her

the second lesson on courtship

men ain’t shit, so

easy women have been hurt and broken
hearted by a couple of men

so they’ll let you in
but they’ll never let you in
because they can’t anymore

average women demand
the fantastic praises of
i love yous

because that’s what
the books they read and
the movies they watch demand
of their self-love

but fantasy is fiction and
fiction is a lie, and you’re too busy
truthfully focusing on you

for a truthful courtship

so, since you’re trying not to lie
it’s best that you avoid the latter
the average woman

which is easier said than done

just focus on easy women
who don’t care about the chase

even if they’re far in-between
even if their hearts are a bit colder
than yours
even if their smiles never reach their eyes

and if you find an average woman
who’s not bitter
and who’s not looking for love

hold on to her
but not too tightly

because you don’t have time
for anything but self-love

and you don’t want your actions
to say that you have more of that
to give than you do

since a false promise is still a lie

the third lesson on sex

don’t believe in romance fantasies
like Bridgerton
women hit on men more
when they’re in a relationship

men ain’t shit, they’re easy
and it’s easier to have sex with women
if you’re in a relationship

and willing to lie
than if you’re single and truthful

yes, a lot of people are single
and truthful
but even more are in relationships

and like facing unemployment

getting out of a relationship
when we don’t have another one
set up to catch us scares us

so more than just some of us
in dead relationships cheat
and those who cheat cheat
with someone else who’s
in a relationship

because of the certainty of it

everyone having something to lose
if the truth comes out
eases the anxiety in air

and it’s a lot easier to have sex
if there’s a lie in the air

so if you’ve chosen the unnecessary burden
of not having lies as your wingman
then be prepared to go without sex

luckily though, you’re focusing on you

and luckily again, trusting a new man
another man, is hard for women

so a lot of the women you’ve been with
will answer those midnight texts

even if you’ve hurt them

by letting them know that
you don’t have time for love
and all that it entails

honestly, you’re easy
like

i told you
“leave your city forever
and i’ll love you for just as long”

and, finally, that wasn’t too much to want

you’re easy like shy weather
i wanted to stay for you and so i did
and i didn’t know i knew how

you’re easy like four-leaf clovers, like morning dew
like not believing my luck while holding you

like holding the body of your guitar, my fingers warm
electric notes rising like hair as i play you with my tongue
your legs like spread wings amidst the angels’ choir
my teeth biting into peaches that shame even Eden’s pears

it’s blasphemous but even God would pause to stare
time standing still as you moan and swear
but like midnight prayer

and like laughter during sex
you make it easy to want more of you
and for that i love you

let me make love to you

you my shortie thursday
you got me sloppy thirsty
’cause you throw it back like

…like Zimbabwe?

nah, like

now, what’s love but a wonderful mess?

you yelling “yes, yes, yes!”
king and queen, sex like chess
sex like contests of transgressions
never-ending sessions of concessions
with breaks for food

strawberries, champagne, and cashews
you came, i came too, on you
two too many to’s turn into threes after review
but plans with your boo fell through

now we’re cuckoo in the strip club on a wednesday
me yelling “ay bay bay, ay bay bay, let’s jay!”
you already midway through your match play
already sweet and slaying like tooth decay
and the DJ sways, plays reggae for our getaway

now it’s sweat like petty cash, hair like whiplash
your breaths catch while your nails scratch
threesomes like a world wrestling match
flasks to eye masks tell of the time passed
shit! i gotta go

yes now, i was late an hour ago
i dunno, lay low or use a dildo
or hop on this metro with your afterglows

i figured i could do better than a “u up?” text
better than some eggplants with no subtext
better than me being the only one that’s direct

so here i am, textin’ you about street food
about eating eggplant tacos in your swimsuit
about your vegan views amidst servitude
oops, hang on, hold still

there’s sauce on your lips, something spicy or sweeter
my fingers enter your mouth as you pull me in deeper
you winking, me taking care like a miss demeanour

palming extra napkins, like scraps of grace
catching passion crumbs of faith
like dinner and movie and a walk to your place

like “hey, u wanna watch Breathless or Scarface?”
when all i can think about is

being too busy for subtexts and cigarettes
your thighs on my shoulders, my hands on your breasts

i was infatuated by zora neale hurston
for the longest time.

i used to think that
she was a better revolutionary
than james baldwin,
than richard wright,
than w.e.b. du bois.

because when they left america
for france and ghana
she stayed.

she stayed,
and fought,
and as her eyes watched god
she told us that,

“no hour is ever eternity,
it has its right to weep.”
so weep for an hour.

but this hour is long,
and the day’s light can’t save us.

i don’t know what to think anymore.

there’s too much pain here.

where do you go when even
paris threw copper coins at coltrane
the first time he played?

yes

once upon a time, before time
there was nothing, nothing at all

no palm trees, no ackee fruit
no birds, no fish, no thorns, no roses
and no one to give them to

no dirt, no water, no land, no sky
no air, no moon, no stars

there was nothing, nothing at all

no light, no darkness, no space, no time

and then there was something
imagine that

a rose grew from nothing
some would call that a miracle

but what else would you call a new beginning
but a miracle of sorts?

a rose grew from nothing
and as it shook off its dust the dust fell together
and created the first fire, stars and starlight

who would have ever imagined that
fire could be made from mud
starlight born from dust fall

and then there was more
more starlight, more stars

and still more, trillions even
they filled the nothing
imagine that

countless stars once shined
until they grew weary of this dance of oblivion
and died

and in their death they exploded
their final showing a grand performance
that ushered in new dust, offsprings of themselves

and the new dust was different
for, unlike them, it came from something
it was filled with possibilities

after star explosion new dust fell together
and became new starlight, our starlight the sun

and in its youthful grasp of anything’s possible
the new dust fell anew together again and again
and became a funeral of sun-worshipers

and we call one of these pious spheres of harmony
“earth”

for it means
forever falling to be blessed
forever fulfilled

and at first earth was full

filled with water, land, and sky
land-fire and sky-fire
and a sour smelling wind

and that was all it was filled with

’till the sky-fire fell and hit the water
over and over and over again
and from that violent marriage of fire and water
plants were born and they grew in the water

and these first plants had children
and they had children and so forth
until the plants’ great grandchildren
and their children were so far removed
that they forgot their parents’ stories
and their faces

their violent habits, their moods and rages
and became plants of their own

some plants left the water for land
some embraced the water becoming fish

some fish having forgotten
the stories of their parents too
left the water and became lizards
hybrid children of land and water

some looked up and in their curiosity
grew wings and became birds

some simply embraced the land growing fur

and some of these furred children
great grandchildren of fire and water
lived in trees and they were smarter than all

smarter than their siblings who stomped on land
who swam in water and who flew on sky

all of their siblings knew they were smarter
because at first only they could make song
meaningful song

that contained all
warnings of dangers, bonds of family
images of things seen, and forms yet to be

and these furred children realized that
yes, they were smarter than all
and in their ego they fell from the trees

and lived on land, by the water
and under the sky, amongst all of their siblings

and in their ego they named themselves
“human”

and after a while, from them came us
you and me, and that’s everything

from nothing came nothing
and that’s everything

for we’re nothing

but grand clay offsprings of dust, water, and wildfire
eventually shaped by curiosity, ego, and time

we’re nothing
if not human and song

yes

once upon a time, before time
there was nothing, nothing at all

and now, here you are
a rose from nothing

a new beginning
a miracle of sorts

in my village we have this saying, that
“we answer the earth with our being.”

that being all of this
all of us

this being that
if you’re just going to forget everything
at least remember that today it asked,
“what does a lover’s hands create?”

and our father, absent as he is, silent as he is
pokes the embers of our dying fires with a stick
trying to get a little more heat out of them
to warm the clay

and our mother rubs her belly and says,
“a home safe enough to be born into silly.”

and our cousin inspects our hands before we eat
making sure they’ve been cleansed
of mud by water

and the water tumbles down into the streams,
into the rivers, the lakes, and the oceans,
making sure a part of us has travelled the world
even if we don’t

and the moon reflects on the waters, listening
staying silent as all the pieces of us break
down into nothing through constant movement

as always

and the grass rustles in the wind
bringing the faintest scent of salt water and us with it
to a place that only knows of palm trees

and a palm tree’s shadow extends to cover us
from the sun’s accusations as the day gets long

and an ackee falls off a tree after having ripened
and the fruit’s seeds embrace the earth after a while

and the seeds grow into trees
and their branches grow

and our father, the father, breaks them
to give us a little heat in the night
to warm the clay

and the fire that was made was creation
is creation, for it still burns

and the weak mud realizes that as it hardens
it is difficult to live without surviving humiliation
without hardening
and so it does

maybe this is what creation was all along
our father, silent as he is, speaking with his hands

that when you gain something you lose something
that the mud loses its innocence the moment it embraces the fire

beautiful though the light’s warmth is after a while
the mud, now clay, will always wonder, which is better
its former innocence or the hard life it’s living now

maybe this is what creation was all along
our mother, smiling as she does, as she creates life within her
as we pester her with questions about who created life

maybe this is what creation was all along
our cousin bearing our hands while pointing to water
showing us the answer to all
“that is us”

too late do we realize that

we are pools of water
and as the rain continues we get deeper with age
until we realize that the leaves that land on us
never quite disturb us as they used to
when we were much shallower

and the moon reflects on us, listening
and the grass rustles with the wind
and the trees bear fruit

and the earth too listens

the sounds of our movements
from rivers to oceans
imprinting into the lines of its many palms
darkening them
as it remembers our being forever