2 minutes

one minute to make the choice,

one minute to plan the escape,

120 seconds to fully commit

to the adventure of

cutting away the debris of  past visions,

and 1 minute more to determine 

the exact whereabouts

                     to leave its waste....

service

i sit across from you on borrowed prayer,
hair sweeping the open redemption of love.
knees bent.
folded into one another.
to keep chaos still,
i allowed my heart to wrap itself around your presence,
go the distance to stretch itself far enough to catch your
soul by the fingertips,
in order to wrestle it to safety, 
rescue the torn bits
and....
restore its freedom.

blind spot...

when you see the clouds gathering and smell the distance of rain, 
you never anticipate that the sky is going to open up right on top of your house. 
bringing the type of rain you can see through and notice that everything beyond the porch is still dry. 
then you realize that you're wet, 
walking in a constant puddle, 
experiencing gusts of wind, 
strong enough to push you around but leaving you with the option of falling down. 

i saw the clouds, 
felt the wind go cold,
heard the low hum of thunder,
and before i could enjoy the deep breath of dusk, 
the storm was on my front steps. 

gleaming, 
showing it's full chest, 
the strength of it's lungs, 
and the full reach of it's wrath. 
i feel it's pulse,
swelling, 
growing, 
giving, 
me time to secure my perimeter. 

where did you come from?????

I'm from the horizon.
where the sky
openly obsesses over the earth
showering blue kisses and orange winds.

I'm from that place no one understands.
the space between pleasure and pain,
the fluid description between
what water is and what it tastes like.
i am the mixed action of passion hidden behind despair.

You are from the ocean.

where the air breaths freedom's scent,

where still beaches worship

the crashing waves and call it a miracle.

You are the quiet of a whisper,

the lasting memory of an intimate touch,

the dream catcher exhaling power, releasing fear. 

your tongue pours peace into my mouth
and....
my lips drip the liquid concrete
that fill the webs of your net...
somehow we call it love,
rehearse our lyrics,
write each other's vows,
chant the holy prayers,
only to absorb the creation of our energy.

i am from the horizon

you are from the ocean

We are the lingering footprints of Destiny, 

dressed in the aftermath of Fate.

Day Eighteen Challenge... Crime of the Maybe's

the straight broad took my girl.

but maybe she was never mine if the taking was so easy,
maybe it was the fact that i didn't want her bad enough,
maybe time corroded her patience,
maybe time constructed the coldness of my heart,
maybe this best,
maybe this broad is her blessing in all of her straightness,
maybe i'm the one who needs to learn,
maybe i need to be potted, incubated for 73 days before i can be planted in the richness of pink soil
between brown thighs,
maybe i need to grow,
maybe it's the care-less-ness that destroyed the possibilities, 
but... 

she tried,
she waited,
she cried,
waited again,
and then she prayed,
maybe we should have laid
hip to hip, side by side and prayed in unison,
maybe i didn't see her, like she couldn't hear me,
maybe we forgot how to touch each other's mind,
maybe this is how it's supposed to be,

maybe this is where i accept the "for now". 

Day Seventeen Challenge... Tears & Dead Leaves

would i be wrong if i told you,
i wanted it to be you....
wanted this forever,
wanted this for however long it takes to wrap time
around the sun and drag it across the ocean's floor
slowly...

would i be wrong if i wanted to lay you down,
and caress the memory of your past,
ride the wave of your fury,
and kiss your forearms at the peak of your bliss.

would i be wrong if i wanted to
have you,
feel you,
take you
over
and
over
and
over again...then repeat that rhythm backwards in baritone?

would i be wrong if I
wanted
to
keep
you
?

Day Sixteen Challenge.... truck stop romance

sundays are the days you choose to love me.

you are the bright blue 18-wheeler, pretty and boastful.

and i am the lone truck stop, route 37 going south.

i am the routine stop,

the place you go to fill up, the place you go for repairs, that trusting ear for highway gossip, that quiet place that whispers encouragement , the place you can’t stay away from because i have everything you need, that “one-stop shop” place.

but you….

are just an 18-wheeler, the thirsty kind.

the kind that drinks until the drink is gone, the one that takes all and leaves scraps. the one who only stops on sundays, if you feel up to it… but let’s be honest you stop on sundays after weeks of running, when everything you have is gone, when you have given what cannot be replenished.

and on those sundays i wash your body, buff away the scratches left by ungrateful lovers. i polish your wheels, re-calibrate your fears and listen carefully to the pur of your babbling engine. i mend the broken and balance you, align your spirit and ready you for the road.

i do this because i love to see that bright blue 18-wheeler, you do this because you love my stop.

but this sunday you’ll have to find another…

i need consistency… a trunk that stops frequently. one that unloads before it loads, one that stays to make sure the stop has what it needs, one that gives and takes but leaves enough to reserve for a later. one that listens the buzz of the lights, one that caresses the handles of the pump so that the diesel follows easy. one that only stops at my stop.  

  

it’s sunday,

you are the bright blue 18-wheeler, pretty and boastful,

driving south on route 37,

i am the truck stop,

but ….

shops closed.

your bright blue 18-wheeler, pretty and boastful is

no longer welcomed,

Here.

Day Fifteen Challenge... the Fist of Prejudice

i still remember what you said to me,

"my house is better than a house with two Lesbians".

i still remember my stomach threatening to empty itself into my mouth and the smell of hate begging me to give in.

"But Mama.... Why"? 

"are you saying that a house with one lesbian is not good enough? are you saying that the lesbian child you raised isn't equipped for parenting"?

then i remembered to breathe forgiveness, i remembered to find the meanings scrambled behind your emotion, and there i discovered what you really wanted to tell me...

i broke your heart.

shattered the dream for your daughter to wed a man,

build a happily ever after, just to say that fairy-tales are real,

prove that little blacks girls can marry lawyers and doctors,

be whatever their imaginations conjure up,

because opportunities are laying about for the taking,

waiting for eager hands to take hold and run off into distant realities made realistic,

fashion homes and lives that grow proud and capable little black children.

but i broke you,

chose to be what i am,

chose to take the sentencing garnered by the three strikes of being

a woman, black, and gay.

i know you didn't want my life to be hard, what life isn't? and who's the judge and jury that determines what "hard" is? i know being a single black mother isn't easy, but being something you aren't is deadly.

the little black child you raise is a lesbian Mom,

a strong woman who chose the consequences of being Free...

Day Thirteen Challenge of the Guilty Chromosome...

as a young parent I don’t always know what to do,

I’m not always sure of the punishments to furnish 

the teachings of life long lessons,

I’m not always ready to deal

with the issues that surround a child’s existence,

I’m not always up to the challenge,

but sacrifice is love and pain is the fact the they don’t care

or understand that the sacrifices of love mean,

dreams are deferred, sleepless nights 

passions turned down, needs unclaimed 

life altered,

so they can exist in peace,

they don’t understand that parents can be hurt

tired

Empty...

Day Twelve... Challenge of the Worship

i wanted to be worshipped.
worshipped like,
ten thousand and one bodies
meshed together chanting my name,
10,001 tongues licking every single syllable,
with 20,002 hands held high and,
10,001 heads bowed
whispering prayers...

but chance gave me Her

a woman...
with daring eyes, and
reaching hands,

calling me to disrobe,
piece by piece,
worshipping me behind closed doors on open hinges...

with my name dripping from her lips,
i hear the 3 thousand and 7 beats of her heart,
summoning me to come closer,
guiding me with hungry fingers to wade in
the ocean of her soul and swim her destiny...

chance gave me,
a woman...
with daring eyes, and
reaching hands,
to baptize me in a redemption that doesn't know love,
a redemption full of worship that breathes eternity and hears hope...

chance gave me, a woman
two eyes for watching,
two ears for listening,
one tongue for tasting,
one heart to match mine,

but...
  she
     is
         the
              worship
                           I
                              fell
                                    into.

Day Eleven Challenge... truth you don't want

“Dear God, make me into a bird so I can fly far, far, far away from here..”

I must’ve have prayed Jenny's prayer a thousand times.. prayed it on bended knee with disappointed  shoulders, and hunched spirits. Prayed that the water of my tears would swallow my fears and erase the doubt for the hopeful. Prayed that the journey not be in vain because the reward would overflow and wash me in a weeping worship.

But you asked me to trust you…

And I trust you but it’s me that I don’t trust,

It’s me that isn’t sure about the process,

It’s me that doesn’t see the footprints marking the road ahead…

It’s me that won’t willingly close my eyes long enough to heed to the direction of your voice….

And because it's me,

I’m asking for grace Lord, asking that you bind my will, close my thought, open my mouth in praise and order my steps…

So,

Dear God make me a bird so I can fly

far…..

Day Ten Challenge... Trail Mix

slowly

i’m learning how to

unravel the you in me.

slowly

i’m understanding the mathematical rhythm

that calculates the spaces between your lips and my heart.

if i didin’t know any better i’d swear

we share the same bloodline

each molecule linked perfectly to the next.

yet slowly,

i’m learning to yield to the need to pacify

the memories that count each and every

second you’re away.

slowly,

i’m leaning to understand

that

distance measures healing…

Day Nine ... Challenge of the Bewildered

                             ~For Lilly~

HE" is the first thought of my morning,

and the last thought before i drift into a sleeping sweetness…

i could lie and say i wonder if i am his first and last thought but i know am.

i could lie and say that we’ll make it,

i could lie and say that i’m not afraid of forever,

i could lie and say that we have confidence in love

but… i know that we are mixed up in, the in between thoughts of each other’s minds…

and as days are carried forward, i think of him to feel him near,

and wait to for time to grant the moment:

where eyes can be laid upon flesh,

where whispers can take full advantage of tickling ears,

while fingers lock into themselves in an infinite embrace.

but because i am faithful to the possibility of heartbreak,

we do this slowly,

purposely creating a foundation where dreams and memories can build themselves,

we do it slowly,

carefully caressing the situation surrounded by circumstance.

i move slowly,

Intentionally…

because i know what i want, and understand that it must be given to me freely…

i know it requires patience, and growth for him to believe, to know, to understand that

from him,

i want the parts of his soul he’s never given,

the pieces of his heart he keeps for himself,

and..

when the in time is right, i will be what he always dreamed of,

hidden in a love he never knew Existed…

Day Eight Challenge... the Song in Tam's Heart

dear mommy,

i am confused. my heart
shaken,
shattered, then
glued back together in hopes that love would fill the cracks.

but, losing you broke me... bent me backwards... stretched me wide... tangled my limbs and
left me writhing in pain,
left me soiled in the dampness of your resolve,
left me danity, confused,
incoherent to life,
And...
angry at God for taking you away, making you an angel.

so in my Rage, i pawn my memories in order to commit your voice to eternity, marry forever, and bind my sisters in ropes of grief so that we never forget to
love you.
breathe your essence,
feel your presence,
sign your name in tear drops,
and speak your words.

dear chocolate lady,
We are here
Together
ALWAYS...

Day Seven ... Challenge of the Breaking...

sometimes i can feel it swelling,

sometimes i can see it coming,

can even hear the presence of it looming,

right before

smell or taste,

right before

the bow breaks...

right before i realize that remnants of salt from tears not quite cleared from yesterday’s path….

i try to run,

try to hide my thoughts

but i know it’s coming

so…

i brace myself for the

BREAK.

Day Six... Challenge of Writer's Block

i look at them

and

beg them to write,

beg them to pick up pen

and

massage its tip

left to right

across the surface

of paper

without

pause

or

stutter.

Day Five ... Challenge of the Selfie

for so long

i’ve tried to find my voice

so i could dress

it in purpose...

but maybe

i’m searching for the wrong thing,

maybe 

it’s not my voice I’m supposed to be finding…

Day Four... Challenge and Judgement

In lieu of serving jury duty....

Day 4 —Write a story/excerpt to include the line, “Sorry, we can’t insure you for a journey like that.”

i entered a courtroom to find

one judge (white)

one clerk of court (also white)

one court reporter (again white)...

the defense attorney (black)

the defendant (black as well)

and the Assistant District Attorney (also black)...

three bailiffs ... ALL BLACK

“Sorry, but we can’t insure you for a journey like that”.

the defendant a Black Man, early 30s, married, dressed beyond nice,

the charged “carrying a concealed weapon”,

charge definition  –the practice of carrying a weapon (such as a handgun) in public, in a conceal manner, either on one’s person, or in close proximity.

 “Sorry, but I can’t insure you for a journey like that”.

Sorry, but I will not be a part of this determination squad, to set verdict to this a man’s life,

Sorry, but I will not have innocence of lack thereof on my conscience,

Sorry, but I will not send another Black man to prison…

Especially…

For exercising his right to bear arms.

Besides, am I too really trust the word of a police officer who’s motives are concealed?

 “Sorry, but I can’t insure you for a journey like that”.

Day Three... Challenge and Respect

each time i do this i learn something, maybe not learn but rather discover something about my actions. each time i do this i understand more and more that change comes from within and that change is often forced by challenges. so within these 30 days i guess i’m challenging myself in more ways that one. but on day three my thoughts are drowning in respect along with the task... let the day’s challenge begin.

Day 3 —Write about the worst time you’ve ever put your foot in your mouth.

according to the dictionary the definition of  respect is:

esteem for or a sense of the worth or excellence of a person, a personal quality or ability, or something considered as a manifestation of a personal quality or ability.

i'm not sure my lover is apt to this definition, in fact i think "respect" is a word we throw around attached to false meanings. i fear you therefore i respect you;  i love you, therefore i respect you; you are my parent, therefore i respect you.... all of the above can be absolutely true without respect being present. the definition shows us differently, and the only thing that keeps ringing in my head is

“esteem for the worth of a person”, “a sense of excellence of a person”

i wanna tell my Lover that she doesn’t respect me, but i already know that it won’t go over well, already know that she won’t receive it, because the weight of it’s truthfulness will be too much for her to handle. i already know that this will be one of those things, she’ll want to sweep under the rug, and the saddest truth is that i’ll let her, all the while knowing that that one simple act will end us. writing this alone is putting my foot in my mouth. but she has to know that i am NOT to be ruled over. God created us from a rib, located on the side of the our bodies, each one to match the next, therefore making us equal. so respect me in that equalness, because i’d rather have respect than loved any day.

the change....

last night I let the thunder beat loudly,

willingly let the fire ignite and burn through

control panes of strength…

i…

allowed the lightening to rain a watery mix of acid and pain

“Relax…. Let it happen…”

“You are safe…it’s ok to be emotional”

but the burn was too much, the itch too great,

the temptation not enough to risk the downfall

the spiraling out of control.

but she wanted me to feel, wanted to see the nakedness of my pain,

things I’m ashamed of and places I won’t go… things I won’t say.

“Relax…. Let it happen…”

“You are safe…it’s ok to be emotional”

then I start to feel like she’s too close, to accessible to my truths and the skeletons laughing behind 

my eyes… the ugliness of past transgressions warped under my skin…

the ugly facts that I hide daily….

the secrets I keep from myself to protect a “me” that doesn’t exist anymore.

i wish I could make her understand that I am only

a Strength of control,

a shell of love and anger,

that is struggling to choose happiness...