home.

i chose a place to call home and i can't imagine it anymore. there used to be kindness there...a comfort and a warmth irreplacable. easily. an undying happiness that pinched my cheeks into a constant smile. and now i see pride lined against the wall paper. stained carpets with ego and grudges. i tried to hide it with the furniture, but it was always showing. no matter what i covered it with. and even when i couldn't see it, my eyes viewed a tainted vision of a house instead...

...then i knew i wasn't home. maybe never home. not as happy as i had thought and not as at ease as i had previously felt. and so easily -- he stole from me what i felt was the only thing i could claim...now only mine to build. a trick door when i tried to open. a misplaced board caught on my foot and i went sprawling. tired of avoiding the cracks in my own floor, i watched carefully from one corner. ruining my own creation with a flood of tears. no insurance that this would ever be the end of destruction, but only that i would be left with less than i had come with.

but i know i'm willing to lose it all at a chance to gain it first. a risk to open my arms wide -- a risk to know that possibly there will be no one to fill them, but a chance that they will forever hold an embrace.

i can tear down my walls for a chance to live with no barriers.
i can rebuild --
and find home again.

promise

for all my tomorrows
though none of them are promised
if i am ever gifted with one brand new
i promise it to you

and i wish i had more than just promises to offer
but my hands are empty
they merely grasp onto you
a hope to cling to
because you...
are all the promise i need
for the tomorrows i have yet to give you.

Freewrite.

she is strength.
empowering barely sprouting seeds to bloom with blossom-like splendor,
she speaks like a mother and moves with subtle soul,
so significant that anyone that's someone should take notice;
seeing her from a distance makes my hope just
burst from the seams of my heart and longing dreams.
a short glance and i'm uncertainly working
up the nervous nerve to say hello and sound superb,
and hope from the bottom of my heart strings that she'll
share a few words,
and the greatest gift in this moment would be to listen
and remember how she feels, to know some of her history,
it would be a delight to hear the light in her voice
and the word selection, all her own choice,
and it would be exhilarating to have her focus on me,
I, whom has gone in and out of focus, waiting for this solstice,
wish to freeze frame time to capture her on oil canvas
and then die while starting back time because the portrait of her image
is priceless and translates understanding through all language
that she is care and all things wonderful there;
no one can compare.

let me tell you about story

i’m still learning how to unwrap the gift of story
i sometimes think my palms weren’t meant to handle something so profound
my voice not melodic enough for her music
my existence too insignificant to be added to her text

i mean, she’s story
a timeless personification the world over
a tongue sharpened allegory
and make no mistake
story never existed for her own glory
she tells triumphant tales of victory
teaches lessons in a sojourner’s defeat
calls upon potent vessels of revolution
cause see
she, unlike me
has danced in perfect stride with sister spontaneity
to the unmingled music of the moon
her silhouette formed by the glow of brother fortune’s foretold
the ferment of story verbalized in bold
in an hour shes called upon one hundredfold
watch historic layers give way as her legacy unfolds

she has even migrated west
to watch the absence of both rest and even upward mobility
her fertility inhabits the heart songs of the destitute
she was raised in the home of barren and broken tributes
ripened to caress the calloused earth that pains
she has chronicled ancient text spent lifetimes to obtain
and to a hero’s disdain
story outlasts even the steadfast to remain
etched into my palms before I could grasp the symbol of a fist
story has felt the pulse of the fallen brown warrior and matriarch
and tasted the tears that only real hope can spark
but with the rhythmic beats of native drumming
story continues

coloring the history of the rising of the sun
huddling together inside the encampment walls
wielding a pen with ferocity and fidelity
blessing the mic under lackluster lighting
cutting through the unbearable stench of rolling hills of waste
reminiscing under the soft glow of street corner lamplight

like i told you
i am still learning how to unwrap the gift of story
for i am forever indebted to story
i am her child, her muse, her vehicle
my entrails were picked apart and branded by story
and as i grew, my passions were shaped by story
i am carried to neverland by her moonlit soliloquy
yet i am violently awakened by her screams for equity
but she continues to hold my hand as we walk backwards from the past
i grip tightly with the wind at my back,
we two, are protectors of the sun
she, like the wind, carries the solemn whispers to the corners of the earth

story is our impetus
a reactionary measure
meant to share ourselves with others
so live and let story, give and get story
cause story waits for no man
and i have never met a man that wasn’t willing to listen to story
learn to unwrap this gift the world calls story
so you and i can be blessed

For Her.

you always held me closer when i'd rather push away/
i'm finding that it's easiest to lose your way from the root/
the origin of love, unconditional i've rediscovered within you/
the advice you've given, true/
akin to periods of powerlessness i've been through/

through it all, i'm standing taller now/
f@#% impressing others, the best thing is having her blessing/
and blending it with broken souls in need of mending/
and sending it through, the same way living and dying angels knew to/
send it through magically, like a piece of d'angelo's voodoo/

do you know what you do?/
you transmit radiowaves of rejuvenation into the .am and .fm of my be-in'/
good vibes like cal tjader's, so much soul like vinroc's faders/
sweet anytime, like now or laters/
just let me say a little prayer, and constantly thank my Savior for allowing me to save her/
in my memory bank for all centuries and time/
i thank the essence of love, outlasting the most picturesque dawn/
breaking light to let me write this reminder, dedicated to Mom.

remember

i reflected...
i remember my life defined by he...
my being only reflected all he was to me
there were days when i wanted to claim victories as my own
and promise myself better days
but when he took away all reason
when i could not rely on anything
i felt the earth crumble from underneath my feet
lost in insanity
lost in weakness
lost in nonsense
he reminded me that the world will all pass away
it's no wonder it was never the foundation for me to stand on...

i remember then...being pushed to my knees
by the burdens and pressures of being too human
by the days i forgot my only necessity
and each day proved to be more difficult
but on both knees
in prayer i found my solace
my strength only amplified when my humility reached it's peak
my weaknesses being all i could cling to
in realization that they were what brought me closer to he...

i remember the gaze from his eye
falling distinctly into it's corresponding spark
from my own eyes that were ready to cry
his breath ready to blow my tears away
with just a simple sigh
he...saddened by the sight of me fallen again
but he was the cure for my sadness
before tears fell from the corners of each eye
before tears blinked into existence
he, so easily created my only solution
and when i exhaled
all my troubles escaped my lips in song
i promised...
to never doubt again

please...i beg you...
always help me remember...