Flirting in London was so much easier than in the States. Perhaps it was because she was only in town for a month and eager to scotch-tape enough memories together to hold her over until her next excursion. Or maybe it was because it was easier being a whore on the road. Either way, it was her last night in the Queen’s city and she was ready to burn a hole in her brain.
Jaylah ran around her hotel room trying to decided between the fuschia dress that showed off the creamy tops of her ample breasts, or the short black mini that exposed a dangerous amount of leg.
After remembering she planned on dancing like a wild 23-year-old dropping an obscene amount of E, she picked the pink number, brushed her hair into a lazy topknot, smeared on her lipstick, and ran out of the door.
you did it, baby. You lived
up to your promise
even though it took
some time, you defied history
& got it right.
today I see for the first time
what Jefferson hoped
when you were born
anything was possible
and for the first time
I feel he was right
Wrote this after Pres. Obama was elected. Not sure if I still feel the same way. Three years in and America has, again, shown herself to be a very imperfect experiment.
Rules for #GOALDiggers
my son is determined
to break his arm
standing atop our
leather ottoman proud
& grinning as if
he just conqured
last week he fell
and wailed until
salt caked his lashes
hysterical he was
comforted with kisses
i ask my mother
how to keep him
off the furniture
"a boy" she says
"what do you expect?"
One of these days I’m going to release that chapbook. I promise.
I scribble your name on envelopes
wondering if you understand this
stirring beneath my skirt
head open and throbbing
I don’t miss you like I should
I think too much time has passed
too many words
not enough said
love still lives hear?
wisps of wind-swept memories
a tornado of bottled emotions threatening
us both if only
I wrote this poem years after I was grown and living in NYC, feeling slightly homesick. Today is the 20th anniversary of riots, so I thought it was fitting to share.
rodney knew what hit him
high as he was the catalyst of
four days of neglected rage
broadcast live on kcal9
wednesday we watch tv amused
cuz the live version doesn’t have any commentary
and 45 different camera angles
and instant replay florence and normandie
heave and break under the weight
a broken bottle
a trash can
thrown purposefully at the blue shields
that are supposed to protect my block
bleeds anger and frustration and false angst
and everybody wasn’t trying to be a revolutionary
breaking windows for new tvs my neighbor asks
if i want him to bring me something back from the ashes
before today we didn’t have a name
confused when people asked what part of LA
i was from near Inglewood was always my response
until now South-Central burned
across news wires and tv screens smoke
littered the street like the national guard
patrolling what was left