I want to sit and listen to you.
Tell me all of the reasons…
Tell me all of your mistakes…
Tell me all of the reasons why it’s hard to say yes and the reasons why it’s hard to say no.
So I can understand why it’s so easy to stay and hard for you to go.
I want to listen…
Speak in to me…Speak into me believing.
Speak and let your vibrations travel out the ends of my toes until your words have aligned every function, repaired every cellular form, healed every hurt until I am running over with love.
Until my feet have been charged to follow your stride.. Until my eyes can see you in the dark. Until my physical senses are no longer needed. Until my intuition becomes my first thought.
Until my instinct and your intuition become one. Until our words began to flow in the same direction. Until we no loner need speech to communicate and our senses can detect and answer each other without thought.
Speak to me.
Speak into my afro. End it with a kiss between my eyes and let the energy heal my pineal gland.
Speak it. Tell my whole self what its main function and is to do
You can break my heart but don’t try to break my silence.
Tucked deep beneath my veins is a violence from a violent culture.
My reliance on God is in critical condition. Don’t try to pull me me apart to get glimpses of my vision…
To get pieces of my past. To predict my future. To understand my presence to gain leverage. To dominate my pride. To reshape my eyes in your sketch book of lies because you want to see my soul cry. To form a wedge between my soul and my spirit. Just to have a few bars in your weak ass lyrics. Don’t use me at your disposal for vengeance towards someone who hurt you that resembles,,,me.
Don’t pick me apart with scriptures that killed my momentum and say that it was God who sent you, you broke into, my heart like the the rent was due and you’re not my landlord.
Don’t try to unearth my past and dig up seeds of my righteous faith to gain a following from my past mistakes, don’t break up the ground of my heart to see what’s growing, knowing that the issues of my heart would start flowing.
I’m not entertainment for your engagements, Don’t try to rearrange shit. Let my third eye rest in knowing that I don’t know everything.
I don’t want to know it all. I don’t want to know when the summer turns into fall or when fall becomes winter. Don’t call my heart cold and don’t call my peace bitter. Seasons change. Reasons change. Just because you don’t understand me, don’t call me strange. Call me peculiar.
Let my soul rest.
I let go but you search for my soul because truthfully you miss it. You’re too prideful to admit it be honest that you had your time but you missed it. You thought I would always be broken but God chose to fix it. You thought I was foolish but I came to my senses. You wish you could have another chance to listen…
Because see, you tried to convince me that my love was too much to deal with, that I was fake, I was someone you couldn’t be real with. Truth was that you were a moving target and I couldn’t be still with…you. I couldn’t split bills with…you. I couldn’t build with…you. The only one who couldn’t feel this…was you.
So you can break my heart but don’t try to break my silence with your violent screams, destitute emotions of your shattered dreams. Don’t try to build dams, let your tears stream. Don’t try to refract light from my beams. All of a sudden you like your coffee black and you don’t like cream…Go figure. I cried my last tears last November. Remember? It would satisfy your soul if I cried you a river. You were a taker who lost ground with a giver.
I remember now…
Sketch work by Me! Entitled, “High Right, Low Left”
This man’s ego. What a confident, self assured A hole. But oh, man I found a kind of security in it. His picky caviar taste in women made me feel like I was a jewel in the crown of Mensa Musa at the height of his revolution. I was more than a muse. More like a fine gold scepter that only he could hold.
His rash words and rigged dialect exuded a power that made me undress although I insisted that I remained clothed in dignity. The lofty look in his eyes, grandeur of his stride, his magnificent stature, mmmm thinking about it has me visualizing myself in his royal highness courts, as we speak. But that’s neither here nor there. That’s besides the point, he’s a bull headed A hole.
His skin. He wore it well. That smooth, brown polished canvas, with finely textured markings of childhood bliss. Wait. See, there I go again. His skin was just alright. He had a few things I didn’t like, I just can’t think of them right now but it will come to me. Just give me a moment to digress.
Okay. So maybe he had a plethora of reasons to be slightly cocky physically, however, I found it quite hard to live on his islet of self love. I mean, I cannot say I never got a word in edge wise, because truth of the matter is, he listened. He listened with intention. He listened with intentions to dismiss whatever was to come out of my dissertation of why he should appreciate me as much as he narcissistically did of himself.
Often, I was abandoned on this island. Apparently, he had many little islands he could mentally escape to when the storms of my affectionate words would reek havoc on his isolation. Nevertheless, I loved him. Something about the way I found comfort in his ability to make me undress. At times, those robes of resilience could be a bit heavy. He provided rest for my soul to escape my island of perfectionism. Perfect match, huh? The perfectionista and the egotistical monster of a man were an unlikely but somewhat satisfying pair.
Of course, I can admit I’m a bit of a fire starter, but we aren’t here to discuss my overwhelming, romantic, fanatical nature, now are we? My love OCD has nothing to do with this story. Not to mention I have a tendency to attempt to persuade him to have eyes for another in order to see how I match up. That’s not the point.
The point is, he was fine doggonit. With it came this alter ego who didn’t reveal himself until after I was hooked on that…you know what I mean. He made love to me like he was writing a classical piece with his ears to the floor, sensing my vibration, played music with my soul. That’s love right?
He touched me like a pianist who just inherited a brand new Steinway piano, so delicate, so careful, so appreciative. After becoming in sync with it, the passion in him would enhance his confidence to just play. Almost like giving it time to get to know him first before becoming more aggressive with his Marija Stroke. Mmmmm. So majestic. The sounds that our love made.
Anywho. This ego thing.
Artwork by Me!
Let’s talk love. Not that romanticized, watered-down, fabrication of love. I’m talking about that steamy, irresistible unction to dive into the ocean of endless, yet mysterious possibilities. That, I am on a hope and a prayer, blind faith, he is so fine, “Lord what am I gone do”, vibe. That is what I refer to as a ‘Love Jones’. It exist. Most of us reject it and if we are spiritual, write it off as LUST. Lust, the big demon giant that everyone and their granny is afraid of, right? It is jammed packed with currents of emotions and looping feelings, until you are just so completely outside of yourself. It is a thrill ride of energy, a rushing wind of nirvana, a euphoria of happiness. A Love Jones may be familiar to you if you have seen the movie, “Love Jones”, starring, Lorenz Tate and Nia Long. One lonely driven, focused women on her journey of self love and empowerment overcome by the vibrations of a handsome freelance writer, photographer and spoken word artist whose circle of friends have become his family. Paired together, make one steamy, hot, fly by night relationship that later become serious due to creative influence and the discover of it.
Love should be magical. It should transcend all doubt, cease to enhance insecurity. Love is a healer. Though it may just be a movie to some, Love Jones is a blueprint for love between creatives. It’s the architectural foundation of emotion and feeling between male a female to say the least. In the old days, love was an escape, a journey if you will, of turns and treks up a steep mountain to the climax of transformation. It was the woman’s desire to meet the masculine plateau with seduction and the will to please his need to please. It was the male’s desire to pull out the power of the feminine in order to accomplish her duties to achieve the completion of human existence. They coexisted. They conquered. They fed each other. In the fullness of love, they were a force to be reckoned with. Black love, the driving force of a nation. The bases of great movements like MLK and Coretta Scott-King, Betty Shabazz and Malcome X. It was the home of new beginnings. It was Love.
“Just like you”
I found my reason to speak my peace and not argue.
Let my actions Be the answer to the question. “Who are you?”
Because my words may stumble.
My emotions may fumble.
The walls I build every brick may crumble but my actions…they speak.
Yea, Sometimes my heart gets weak.
Called everything from a geek to a big ol freak when I reach my peak.
It’s true but I’m also meek when I seek the truth.
Hair on fleek but underneath is proof.
I have patience and power and strength.
I have fortitude, virtue in length.
My truth is not a myth…or a fabricated story… like forty acres and a mule and reparations.
I am variations of color, a generational mixology of ancestral knowledge… you see,
I’m not a figment of the human imagination…of colonialism or experimentation.
I exist. I exist with purpose.
I’m more like bold, italic and cursive.
Underlined with my grandmother’s integrity.
Quoted in the Lamb’s Book of Life.
Noted as a Child of God.
Highlighted with the tip of a feather pen from a wing of an angel.
Sketched, brushed and shaded in at every Angle.
I matter too. Just like you.
Made with pastels created from clay…on the 6th day
My melanin just doesn’t react to the sun the same way but hey…I’m just not you.
I’m a Spirit wrapped in artistic expression.
A blessing. A life lesson, for some.
I came from a sword of erection that penetrated a hymen created for protection in the midst of my father and mother’s moments of affection.
Just like you.
Spent 3 quarters of a single revolution of the earth’s journey around the sun in complete darkness before me and earth connected.
Just like you.
But then I came too.
But I don’t blame you for my existence.
Therefore I see no need to carry out vengeance, because without the pain, my heart would never find repentance.
I would have never learned resistance
to dead flowers of religion.
The true power of forgiveness.
The true greatness of persistence.
I am the breaker of generational curses for all of my descendents.
Just like you…
Bleed red blue
I’m just not you.
Claire de Lune' 