The Infinite Story Of Us

 

Is it possible to miss something you've never had? Images of us run through my mind like a sentence that's never ending.

I've imagined us vacationing in beautiful Martinique. We've thrown frisbees on Myrtle Beach. Today I saw us lying naked on crumpled lavender sheets. You were whispering to me your fears and frustrations, desires and dreams. I miss the things we never had. But our moments together are ones I'll never forget. Like the morning we made love while listening to raindrops. Or the time we met by the fountain. You embraced me, and all of my troubles seemed to disappear like dark clouds before the brightest of sunshines. And although it's been about 156 months since I first met your voice, I still remember promising you cookies if you would just fix my PC. Later, when I met the rest if you, I wanted to promise you my heart. I knew then that I would adore you and I do now with every vein within my person. You've become as vital as my own beating heart and I need you just as much as I need the air that I breathe. Our evolution has been incredible, and I count the seconds until I can once again share your space. So that we can replace the things we never had with moments that formulate the infinite story of us.

Unnoticed

I can't look into his eyes, not for long...

The feelings behind mine may reveal secrets I'm not yet prepared to share.

I don't want him to know things he may already know.

Am I that transparent?

I realize that I could never get in return that which I'm not even sure I'm willing to give.

So for the sake of my poorly kept secrets, I don't look into his eyes, not for long.

I often wonder who else has been where I am now.

Afraid of his gaze, anxious in his embrace.

Was her reflection more beautiful?

Does he give her butterflies too?

Does she look at him then quickly turn away for fear of exposing the inner truths of her heart?

I can't say that I blame her, he's a man among men and perfection in every way.

I may not be the only one he sees but I must admit,

I feel favored by his presence.

Still, I won't look into his eyes, not for long.

I'll continue looking away in hopes that the love and the passion and the fear and the pain

will all remain

unnoticed.

My Leading Man

It doesn’t matter that we really don't spend much time together.

I fancy him with my whole heart and why wouldn’t I?

He penetrates my every thought and

every midnight he graciously accepts the leading role in my dreams.

He’s debonair like Fred Astaire...no wait, Billy D.

In my dreams I am Mahogany and he sweeps me off my feet.

I would never give him a supporting role; he’s the brightest star in my sky.

I’m mesmerized by his bedroom eyes, I love the way he says “Peace” instead of goodbye and his skin is reminiscent of a beautiful sunshine.

He’s notable and famous and all things, in my mind.

So it doesn’t matter that we really don't spend much time together.

He’ll always be my leading man, at least in my dreams.

Your Voice

When I hear your voice,
I get this urge.
A surge.
Invading me.
Flowing through my body.
What could it be?
Ecstasy?
Intimacy?
No,  it's the sound of your voice.

Damn, you sound good!
I want to touch you,
taste you,
feel your body entwined with mine.
Rocking
and

swaying,

Prince music playing.
Erasing our grey skies for purple rain.

Lost in your love,

feeling no pain.

When I hear your voice

it brings sensations within.

I long for your lips
and your skin on my skin.

The sound of your voice

is all that I imagine.
Moaning... whispering...and

calling my name.
Should I refrain
even though this urge remains?

When I hear your voice

I want you.

I need you.
Just to have you close,
lying next to me
and eventually making love.

Soft, slow,
a gentle flow.
Expressing my love for you.
Doing all the things you want me to do.
Leaving lipstick traces in places
no one else has ever been.
Making circles of love,
up and down,
'round and around.
Teasing you with my tounge.
When I hear your voice,

it makes me want to come
and enjoy the essence of you
inside of me.
This time
all I want to do
is be with you.

Not over the phone.

Live and in person.

Up close.
Turning fantasy into reality
tonight and every night.
Then awakening
in your arms,
knowing that we shared
love,
sex
and passion

that could never be compared.
So before our time is through

I want to make love to you...

and not just hear your voice.

You Remind Me

You remind me of what it must feel like to visit the motherland.

There is a history and a connectiveness between us that

has remained unbreakable for quite some time.

I feel a sense of pride whenever

I am in your presence.

Everything else and everyone else

disappear from our lives

like the Shashe river disappearing

on the African horizon.

For those spellbinding moments

only you and I exist.
Every second in our secret world
feels
like
home.

Every night before I go to bed, I think about

the last time we were together.

We were on my sofa and
the TV was observing us observe each other.

I looked into your eyes and watched your lips

form words that were inaudible.

Drowned out by the pounding of my heart

that played rhythmic melodies as if it were a djembe drum

beating only for you.

Then you touched me and I felt a feverish heat.

Not a scorching heat, like the kind you can't wait to get

out of.

It was the kind you want to bask in on a sunny day
in Botswana.

I love the darkness of your skin, the power in your voice,

the way you tower

over me like a mighty Nubian King.

You remind me of what it must feel like to visit the motherland.

Baby Bird

Brandon

My precious baby bird,

born too soon.

Too young

and fragile

to have left my womb.

Things happen

for reasons

we don’t always

understand.

Our Lord and Savior had

other plans

for my precious baby bird,

my first born,

my heart.

For reasons unknown

we must be

apart.

Tears flow like raindrops

as I remember the day,

you entered my life

then went away.

Though you fought

like an eagle,

your delicate wings faltered.

You tried.

Doctors tried.

But it wasn’t to be.

One last breath

and you were set free

to soar in the heavens.

I miss you but I'm

grateful

that you've been given

new wings.

Fly my angel.

You’re in the presence of God.
When the time is

right, you'll be back

in my arms.

The Kiss

You kissed me and I realized

that I had never been kissed before,

not like this.

Our lips met and I felt you etching

your name on my heart,

taking ownership of it’s fragility.

Erasing years of abuse it suffered

at the hands of previous owners

who forgot to handle it with care.

Gently, you kissed away the

pain and in those sweet seconds,

I believed...

I believed in fairy tales and soul mates.

I believed in the story of us.

You became an alchemist and I was a rose

burgeoning through a tiny crack in the dirty and
hardened concrete.

In your kiss there was hope.

Happiness lived there too.

It was beautiful and unmistakable.

I lost myself in your embrace.

Lost, then reborn.

I felt beautiful and desired.

Because of you, my benevolent alchemist,
I felt transformed.

You kissed me out of a place of darkness into the sanctity of sunshine.

There was warmth in your gentleness. I wanted to dwell

in it forever.

But when our lips parted, so did we.

Fear and self-defense mode took over and suddenly

it wasn’t worth the risk.

But I will always remember the magic

I found inside your kiss.

Stress

Stress is a bitch!

It turned my normal life into a storm.

Ripping apart my well being.

Tearing apart all that was once good.

I’ve been tossed into the arms of uncertainty

and I just want to be left alone
to nurse the

cuts on my brain,

the aches and the pain.

All compliments of anxiety and stress.

Like snipers, they took aim at my spirit and

I don’t remember who I once was,

before the projectiles of worry and loneliness

found their intended target.

I feel smaller.

Lesser.

Why me, Lord?

How much more am I supposed to be able to take?

I’m wounded and irritable and I’m unable to sleep.

Stress is my caffeine.

An evil little stimulant that

keeps me spinning out of control.
My mind can't rest.
Helplessly I spiral into unknown darkness.

I’m unable to fight fairly that which I can not see.

My opponent has no reflection, but

I know it’s always there.

How do I win against a cunning

enemy called stress?

What Am I To You, Really?

Within the juxtaposition of lust and nothingness

we exist.

What am I to you, really?

Not good enough to be your woman,

but we’re certainly more than friends.

If I’m just a connoisseur of pleasure,

then you’re my architect of pain.

I desire and despise every inch of you.

Thoughts of us haunt me continuously.

Your presence awakens me immediately.

I curse the condition you’ve left my heart in.

Moreover, I hate what I’ve become.

A weakened, amoral version of my former self,

lost in lust and longing for an answer to

an enigmatic question.

What am I to you, really?

Mistakes

Look At Me

Look at me.
Not at my face or my alleged beauty.
Look into the depths of who I am.
Read the funereal story that is my truth.
Can you see the ugliness and
the merciless solitude,
both taunting me like a foe?
I've been oppressed by an anchor of sadness.
I'm angry, frustrated and alone.
Discard your superficial esthetics
and observe me with your heart.
Only then will you know my pain and my potency.
My resolve and my demise.
My heart has died a hundred deaths, but still
I manage to rise.
I’m an amalgamation of contradictions
and my soul is imperfectly pure.
You’ll see all of this and so much more,
if you will only take the time to look at me,
and love me inspight of myself.

The Wilted Flower

She hates me because she hates herself.
Wretched roots produce hostile fruits.
She's a wilted flower,
With no love to maintain
Her origin and offspring are sources of pain.
She hates me and I felt the same.
Generational bondage
So hard to break free.
I hated her because she didn’t love me.
Didn't nurture me.
Didn't strengthen me.
I was a budding pierced by thorns of misery.
Anger and agony pumps through her heart
So anger and agony is what she imparts.
But I know that in order for me to bloom
I have to reject inherited gloom
She's a wilted flower but the cycle stops here.
She is my mother and I love her dear
I rebuke the sadness, self-hatred and shame.
I forgive her.
I pray that one day she'll feel the same.

My Ghetto

I need to release some frustration,
so I want you to visit my ghetto.
In the middle of the night,
come right into my hood.
This area has been neglected.
Can you do it some good?
Without question bring protection,
I don’t know where you’ve been.
But when you enter my inner city
feel free to partake like it’s yours.
You can roam through my softness,
drink from my sweet wetness.
I will purr naughty words to help you
reach your destination.
Right there!
Don’t stop!
Damn, you’re good!
It's my pleasure to show you
what you've never experienced.
We can get down and dirty if you’re feeling adventurous.
These secluded little walls have driven others delirious
as I ride or die till a quarter past four,
every bump and grind will have you begging for more.
Nosey neighbors might try to disrupt our groove
as erotic rhythms give way to animalistic screams and moves.
A heat wave might make you shake and sweat,
uncontrolably you'll come,
but we're not done yet.
My needs are intemperate.
Are you ready?
You will have to come correct.
As the sun begins to rise you might feel hung-over,
but you have an open invitation to stumble in again
when I’m alone
and need to release frustration
within my ghetto, which is now your home.

I Wish You Well

For just one moment, I wish that we could
un-end our ending.
Revisit a time when our souls were in sync,
and we danced to the rhythm of happiness
and the soothing sounds of our own heartbeats.

Those were the good times...

Our music has stopped playing,
but I’ve never stopped praying
for time and space to un-break
your spirit and my heart.
We punctured our foundation, and poured pain
into the broken places.

Still, we both deserve to be made whole.

So for just one moment I’ll dance alone
Swaying to silent melodies where memories still dwell.
As I reminisce, I lovingly release all painful recollections
and wish you well.

Fallen Angel

On a cold, winter’s morning I met a stranger name David. For some inexplicable reason,
I felt a connection to him.
The tattered clothes on his back,
the hemorrhaging bruise on his face, and a beat
up old bicycle seemed to be the only things life had allowed him to retain.
David asked me for money, he asked me for prayer. I gladly furnished both.
Then I watched as he got onto his only mode of transportation, riding off
to an unknown destination, disappearing into the grayness of the morning.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get his image out of my mind.
I realize now that David must have been a Fallen Angel, put in my path by God.
Sent to give me far more than I gave him.
He was a gentle reminder that in this cold, harsh land we need to help each
other and understand
that we are put here to bear each other's burdens,
and fulfill the laws of Christ.
Compassion
Kindness
Generosity
All produce reciprocity.
At some point, we will all become Fallen Angels, in need of new wings.

What have you done for someone else today?

Valentine’s Day Masquerade

Every year on 2/14 I try to piece together a convincing narrative to tell to my heart.

“It’s just another day.”
“The commercialism is ridiculous.”
“You don’t want that kind of pressure.”

But my heart wants what she wants. And who I am to judge?

She wants someone special to tell the world she’s special. She wants heart shaped boxes
filled with Godiva chocolates, bright red teddy bears, Hallmark cards, long-stemmed roses,
and romantic nights with candle lights. She wants all of her desires wrapped up in a pretty pink bow.

Instead, she has to put her big girl panties on and give Oscar winning performances to co-workers
and friends.

She has to oooh and ahhh at the heart shaped boxes
filled with Godiva chocolates, bright red teddy bears, Hallmark cards, long-stemmed roses,
and romantic nights with candle lights gifted to everyone but herself.

Are their hearts more deserving?

It’s a Valentine’s Day Masquerade and her happiness is an elaborate facade.

The truth is, she wishes she could rip off her mask and go fast asleep, not wake up until it’s the 15th.
It’s not that she’s a hater. She’s just a lonely heart, who wants what she desires…love.

“Oh well, maybe next year.”

The Empty Room

The empty room where love once lived is now
dark and cold.
The ugliness here is suffocating.
Every molecule a reminder of moments we shared.
Laughter has been painted over with heartache.
Hopes replaced by motionless dreams.
Dead and buried are our promises.
We both became breakers of those.
We fooled ourselves into believing
that love would live here forever.
But love left suddenly.
No long goodbye
or forwarding address.
Who knows where broken hearts go
off to heal?
I sigh an abhorred sigh,
as I begin to pick up fragments
of my battered vacancy sign.

Bad Little Girl

Like most bad little girls,
I’m alone in my room feeling
unwanted and worthless.
The deprivation of your heart and soul,
plus your inability to fully commit
equals me, unlovable.

Why am I being punished?

I look out my window and I’m jealous of the lovebirds.
I’m angry at the sunshine.
Today is a day for lovers and lovers of lovers.

But I’m a bad little girl, checking my cell phone,
re-reading text messages, feeling humiliated
as I settle for pieces of you.

I’ve lost all sense of self, but still, I wait for your call.
Some of your attention is better than no attention at all.
I’m a bad little girl, anxiously waiting for my temporary reprieve.

Wouldn't Change A Thing

You could offer me money
And I wouldn’t change a thing
Not my hair, my nose
Or my hips that swing.

I wouldn’t change the way I walk
If you offered me gold.
Or the skin that I’m in
Deep down to my soul.

I wouldn’t change where I’m from,
I wouldn’t change what you see.
I wasn’t born in Africa,
But she was born in me!

Why wouldn’t I change?

‘Cause I’m a proud Black woman.
A Goddess, a Queen.
You could offer me the world,
But I wouldn’t change a thing.

Rhythm

The First Time

Baptised by moonlight.
A flower blooms in darkness.
Their souls are reborn.

My Black Pride

Confessions of a Light Skinned Girl

I use to want to have dark skin, the
kind that would make Momma smile.
The kind she and Grandma wore proudly,
I wanted to fit in for a while.

I felt cursed with a scarlet letter
Bestowed by a slave owner before.
I longed to be dark and lovely.
I didn’t want light skin anymore.

Why was I born light-skinned?
It caused me to harden my heart.
I've been called:
Pale
White girl
High yellow
Wanna-be
Red girl
Red bitch
Pasty bitch
Fluorescent
I was even compared to swine.
You can see the veins in a pig’s skin,
the same way you see through mine.

I never wanted special treatment,
because of the tone of my skin.
Caucasians let their guards down
And I’m idolized by some Black men.

But that was me then…

I use to want to have dark skin,
but there’s been a transformation in me.
I embrace my place on the rainbow.
I’m Black, proud, and light-skinned, the way God intended me to be.

My Life

My life, filled with disappointments and regrets.
The bad choices were self-inflected.
Am I an imbecile, unlucky or unblessed?

God has turned a deaf ear. He has other prayers
to grant. I crash and I burn, I toss and I turn. Losing my religion.
Evaporating, steadily eliminating all traces of me.

The messy makeup on my face is confirmation of my pain.
Do you care? Does anyone care? Ineffective tears are the only constant
in my life. Loved ones abscond as I fight to hold on. But will I win the
war?

I wear battle scars like gems. Evidence of my resolve.
The demons of confusion dance their victory dance. May I cut in, though?
I won’t go down. I can’t go down. Don’t count me out now. Running swiftly from this madness
will not be done in vain. I may fall, but still I rise. I will live to fight again.

Two Days In The City

Was it tragedy or fate that brought us here?
I feel like I have loved you all my life, and yet,
Today is the day I commit myself to you
And bare my soul.
I stand before you naked, undisguised.
Here I am.
Take me.
Love me.
I want to give myself to you in the worst way.
You can have all of me.
All that I am.
I ask for nothing in return.
On this day our souls become one
And embrace the world.
Let me love you.
Let me ease your pain.
I am your angel and I will disengage the demons
and the ghosts from your past.
Let my love sustain you, it will sustain us always.
We have forever.
No - it’s slipping away...
Like sand in an hourglass.
Despite our best efforts there is no avoidance of pain.
Life gets in the way,
And all that remain, are memories of two days in the city.

Sadness

A Letter to My 10 Year Old Self

Dear Faye,
I know that you are alone a lot. I know that you feel fat and unpretty. That’s what they all have called you...your family, your friends, strangers. No one is going to tell you that you are beautiful, but you have to know that you are. You have to remember that you are kind, and friendly, and smart. That is what makes you beautiful. Your spirit is so beautiful. So stop overeating when you are sad and lonely. Apply yourself in school. You have natural gifts. Use them. No one will encourage you, but use your gifts anyway. You have so much to offer this world. Don't be afraid to embrace your talents. That's called purpose and it is from God.
Speaking of God, He will call home a lot of people who you love. Prepare yourself, some of them will leave you way too soon. Appreciate every moment that you have with your family. Love life. Open yourself up more. Smile often. When you smile the sadness in your eyes disappears. Find the confidence that you will need to become the young lady you really want to be. Don’t look for acceptance in boys and men. That will only add to your unhappiness.
Above all else, make choices from your heart. Never allow anyone to manipulate you or make you do things that feel wrong. You are smarter than you know. Kinder than you should be. And more beautiful than you feel. Listen to your head, but follow your heart always. You’re a special little girl and you will be just fine in this life.
Love always,
Yolanda

Crave U

I lay here in bed
craving you.
Wondering if you're somewhere
craving me too.
I touch myself,
but my own touch won't do.
Damn!
I pine for you.
Whine for you.
About to go straight out of
my mind for you.
I'm craving your flavor
Like a pit bull craves blood.
Wanting so badly to taste your love.
Suck on your sweetness,
Take it all in.
I'll grant you your wishes,
Again, and again, and again,
Like a genie.
I'm trippin'.
But I am craving you.
And I wonder if you are
Craving me too.

Focus On The Cans! - Published on Yahoo Voices

When I was younger, the only thing I ever longed to be was a mother. While other teenage girls were scribbling the names of their heart throbs inside of notebooks, I was jotting down the names of my future children. I'd think to myself, if I were to one day have a baby girl, would I name her something romantic like Valentina or would I name her after her grandmother, Ruth?

Would my future son carry on his father's name or would he have a biblical name like Isaiah? The possibilities were endless!

As a young adult, I babysat for my friends and family as I often as I could. I loved children and couldn't wait to have my own some day. Finally, when I was 29 years old I found out that I was expecting and I was absolutely overjoyed! I day dreamed about soccer practices, birthday parties, and play dates every single day of my pregnancy. But when my son was born with Cerebral Palsy, I found myself mourning the loss of possibilities and all of the hopes and dreams I had for him. I had to accept the fact that despite my unconditional love, there were many things that my son would never be able to do.

This year, Travis will be 13 years old. He cannot walk or talk, but having him in my life is unequivocally the best thing that has ever happened to me. Life hasn't always been easy and there have been many moments of sadness, fear, and uncertainty. But this year, I am embracing the positive. My New Year's resolution is to focus on the CANS!

My son can't walk, but he loves being outdoors. So I CAN take him on more walks in his wheelchair. God knows I could use the exercise.

Travis can't focus on TV, cartoons, or movies but he loves music. So I CAN play his favorite CDs every night. That will be our new bath time ritual.

He can't open presents, but he is fascinated by Christmas lights. So during the holidays, I CAN sit with him next to the Christmas tree and watch his eyes dance as the lights flicker.

Every child is unique and will have his or her strengths, weaknesses, abilities, and limitations. Learn to look at the CANS as gifts. To open the gift you must focus on your child's abilities, not their limitations.

Happy New Year!

Heartbreak

Missing Him

The sound of his voice repeats in my mind
like a never ending song.
His touch invades my thoughts and
I suddenly become
an indigent,
needing to feel his touch again like a flower
needs water to bloom.
I'm lost without him
yet lose myself completely when I am with him.
He is my fear and my fascination.
My pleasure and my pain.
Traces of his cologne are all that remain
inhabiting my body
and reminding me of the moments we shared.

Instant Captivation

Instant captivation…
His look, his smile.
In his eyes I saw
A promise of things to come…
Anticipating the gift of his kiss
No ribbons required.
Just the wrapping of our souls
Intertwined like a subsisting chain
As we acquiesce to
Instant captivation.

Devastation

It started in an instant…
A burning desire
Consuming me like smoke,
Then scorching my entire being like a hearth.
Was he a pyromaniac
or just careless with my heart?
Surrendering to the sparks has left all of who I am
irretrievably charred.
My scars are evident and profound.
I’m damaged and unpretty.
My naiveté fostered every flame.
Trying to forget only empowers the pain.
Memories motivate tears that fall like ashes
from a post-apocalyptic sky.
My ignorance and desperation have been exposed
for the entire world to see and deride.
I sort through the rubble,
wishing that I had been burnt completely to the ground.

A Lioness Is Weeping

Deep inside the forest of contrition,
where the sun forsakes the right to rise,
and mute songbirds fly,
a lioness is weeping.
Wounded by humans,
she fled to a land
where brightness is denied
and communion is eclipsed.
She creeps fearfully through obscurity and despair.
Her beauty and power
has been masked
by endless darkness.
Her tears are melancholy and overflows
like a waterfall.
She is now a shadow of antiquity,
crouching in the bush,
never realizing that as with all things,
time has healed her wounds.
She has been blinded by the night
and can not see that just beyond the darkness,
sunlight awaits,
eager to unveil her greatness
and point her back to a world
of delectation that was maliciously
hidden by mercenarius skies.
Instead, her weeping echoes throughout the gloom
and sticks like a broken record,
repeating a forlorn melody heard by no one
but herself.

Forgiveness

Fades To Black

Forbidden thoughts
awaken conscious fantasies
that dare us to travel through uncharted territory.
Contemplation, the prelude to completion,
takes us on an illicit and uninhibited journey
of sweet sins and certain damnation.
Abandoned by our principles,
binary
becomes
singular,
forming an interlocking chain
of lust and lies.
Time fades in and out
like an antiquated memory.
Today, I am an actress
in a triangular tragedy
giving erotic performances
that his wife respectfully declined.
His presence is my award.
My oral abilities serve as a suitable acceptance speech.
Our bodies applaud each other,
inciting encore after encore.
We find rapture in repetition.
But like the sun disappearing below the horizon,
the curtain always closes.
He hurries home to her
and everything fades to black.

Haunted By Fear

I am the reason you run,
The mother of hate,
The author of anger,
I keep you awake.
I am you, forsaken.
Your last breath taken.
A hound of hell.
A voice that’s shaken.
I am the hijacker of peace.
The robber of dreams,
I am touched by madness.
I am a futile scream.
I’m the pounding in your chest.
I am hope undone.
I creep in the shadows.
I am the reason you run.

Like The Wind

Feel my breath on your face
Footprints I leave in your space
I’m like the wind.

You can’t restrain me
Don’t try to change me
I’m like the wind…wild and free.

If you’re weak I’ll move you
But I won’t try to rule you
I’m like the wind.

Don’t illustrate me
Don’t indicate me
I’m like the wind…I’m here, then gone again.

Just yield to me
Appeal to me
Enjoy me
Then deploy me
I’m like the wind - you won’t discern me.

My Killer Stilettos

My killer stilettos,
The kind to be paired with smooth jazz and floral scented candles.
Whenever I rock these Jimmy Choo sandals,
I
AM
FIERCE!
They are black as night with sexy satin straps.
And diamond encrusted jewels that go up the back.
My killer stilettos with the 6 inch heels
Gives me legs for days and mad sex appeal.
In my killer stilettos I feel oh so naughty
Like a mischievous child with secrets to hide.
They command your attention and catch your eye,
like breathtaking fireworks on the 4th of July.
In my killer stilettos I stomp like a model.
Ripping the runway with long deep strides.
Head held high, and a sway so bold,
Walking down the street I’m a sight to behold.
I’m a foot fetisher’s dream when I show off my toes.
I strut my stuff proudly wherever I go.
I am the envy of women wearing sensible shoes.
And I make teenage boys stop, stare and drool.
Hell, even the stars in the sky envy me.
And when men pass me by,
my stilettos are like kryptonite,
bringing brothas to their knees
My killer stilettos,
Surrounding me in a seductive sense of mystery as I walk my walk
And boy, if these Jimmy Choos could talk
They’d say:
“Come fuck me, but don’t fuck with me!”
My stilettos, killer indeed.

I'm Blaque

That White Shit

There’s an epidemic plaguing our community
Too many of our brothas are on that white shit
Yeah, that nasty white shit
And it ain’t nothing nice
It’s got our men leaving their queens
And their beautiful brown babies
And for what?
For some nasty white shit?
It’s fucking with their heads
It’s got our men believing that Black ain’t beautiful
It’s like they are brain dead
Why brothas, why?
Why are you on that white shit?
Because it’s taboo?
It will destroy your mind
It’s dictating your opinion about your own kind
That white shit is the worst drug there is
It’s got you seeing things that’s not there
Distortions
Hallucinations
Shhh, what’s that she say?
Nigger this!
Nigger that!
Whenever you are away
It’s no hallucination, brotha
It’s your blue eyed angel in disguise
She’s got you hypnotized
Because you’re on that white shit
Poor fool!
You’ve got the fever
You’re just another believer
But it’s cool my kings
When you’re ready for intervention
We’ve got the little brown pill
That will heal you and instill
Pride in your own
And put you back on your thrown
So with my fist in the air I declare
To all my brothas
And you better hear me good
You need to come back to your hood
And leave that white shit for good.

That Place

I want to go to that place
That faraway place
Where I can finally sleep to dream
Where the ocean meets the sky
And there is silence
I want to go to the place where forever is born
A warm bright light will guide me there
And I will have no fear
I will be at peace
And experience tranquility
I will worry no more
And I will feel no pain
I will be free from anxiety and strain
At that place
All of my emotional scars will be healed
My heart will be made whole
And I will have no memory
Of the good or the bad
I will simply lay my head on solitude’s pillow
And sleep.