KING ME

My back ground Music

He is my back ground music!
When I move, it’s to the sounds of his adoration for me!
He is my back ground music!
Peeling me open like a banana, he kisses my bruises!
Yes yes he is my background music.
I rock slowly to his roar and fall a sleep to his purr!
He is my back ground music!
Slaying dragons, calling stars, within my reach, to the rhythm of his instrumental climax!
Dancing in a frenzy to a hypnotic beat!
Inciting, enticing, magnetic grooves.
Moving me to the depths of my inner Queen!
Pulling me to the horizon of my destiny!
My background music in the notes of a high sexy, and intense integrity,
Resting before, the entrance of pretty flute notes singing my creativity,
Saxophone solos whispering Gods favor upon me!
Angels singing praises to the woman I am…
Slave’s hums of what I am to become!
I am captivated by the beat!
I roll my hips, and twerk a bit,
Then pop my fingers to the song,
As the world wonders, how I am so strong?
They can’t hear my background music!

Poetry and ME

Okay I am bout to be late,
But I had to take a minute to give an update
Me and poetry, an open display of public intimacy.
I am committed to Poetry like a MIC to an Emcee.
Letters never separate from my thoughts,
I hear the words in my sleep. I feel  them in my heart beat,
When it skips its natural rhythm, That’s a new found adjective striking a nerve.
The headaches, really just runaway verbs,
Stomachaches equal run on sentences flowing in my mind.
Alphabet soup streaming through my blood. It’s the L in my Love, the silent E in my cries.
The sweetness in my tenderness, the song in my lulabye.
Poetry and I are in sync. Really in love,
So my status updates or just an open display of my public affection, The ink pens creates my mind’s erection. A harmonic overflow of the longest orgasm of words.
Me and Poetry like my first and last name,  We just go together.

The Ghetto Kiss

assThe Ghetto Kiss

Early in the morning I put breakfast on your table,
Now that chick sure aint me!
Every meal we eat is in front the TV,
I am the poor, the whichamickfricken needy.
Tired of y’all sangin these love songs that don’t even relate to me.
Ya sneak up to my door my late at night, wit a chicken dinner and a sac of weed.
In those late night hours, you love my blonde weave
And how everything I got on is in camouflage pink.
Funny how when the sun rises,
Pink is the color of the skin you seek.
Where do you think I got my pride?
How do you think there is a dance in my stride?
Part of the radiance in my shine,
Comes from the whispers of you tellin me, I am fine!
With my legs spread wide and my back arched low,
Your stories build me up to be a Queen.
But when the sun comes up, it’s a different story you sing.
Somehow I transform into that hood-rat chick and crack fiend.
Those voices from the children you hear, are your seed!
Lost in why they can’t see santa,
Trapped in between, drive by shootings, & liquor store lootings, Wondering why they only see a man in the house at night.
In the wee hours of morning rise, they close their eyes,
Praying for a father to rescue them.
I pray for a lover of my mind and my thighs.
Wishing you could see that I decorate myself with pride.
My need of finances does not kill my creativity,
My love of community or responsibility.
You really just took me young,
Left me with your young, and I made do!
While you painted a story that is only part of the truth.
The love song you should all sang is, How I made it over!
Then take a picture of my pink thong ass and it put it on the cover!
Yes. Yes! Pucker up and kiss this lover!
Cuz every Ghetto rock star, rise of a welfare mother,
Older momma that rocks the stage with a degree,
That over-comer is me!
Singing my story, proud of food stamps and income budgeted rent.
It starts with a GED, spins into a master’s degree.
Encores with written books, movie deals and paychecks earned.
Birthed music writers, and basketball players who shoes, you buy!
In every story lives lies and truths, and I am living proof!
Yet sometimes in my mind, that blonde weave, ghetto chick
still exist and she screams with discomfort from the comments
of those who don’t understand the bunions on her feet.
Overworked and tired of the hits,
She wishes the world would just, kiss her ghetto grits!

I Broke My Poetry!

I fell down and broke my poetry.
Words and rhymes falling out my knees.
Didn’t know that it was letters I bleed.
Stop trying to help me up.
Please pick the W up!
I need it to express how I feel.
Cause the F and the U took a very hard spill.
The BIG G.O.D is always around,
Today He’s angry about the words that I left scattered all over the ground.
Magic Spells, and fairy tales please turn this situation around.
Help clean up the letters leaking all over the ground!
Everyone is reading my private thoughts,
Sorry that it hurts your feelings, but what is that bump on your nose?
Don’t get mad at me!
Everyone is thinking what you just read!
I fell and broke my poetry wide open,
Slow songs slid out, and rap songs started a fight,
Two toes let rock roll loose, and don’t judge me!
What would we see, if someone broke open your poetry?!

Cocked Blocked

DSC_7607I feel like writing,

Something is holding me back,

Can’t get it off my mind,

Its got me all off track!

I Keep pretending like it may go away.

That negative vibe that’s getting in my way,

Keeping my pen stuck,

Like drying ink, a smudge, a stain on my paper,

I can’t throw it away, can’t move past the stain,

Not enough energy start all over again.

I keep trying to convince myself, that I am somebody,

That the words count, that they will bring life, therefore, I have to write.

Is my gift broken? Is it in a pretty box with a great big bow?

When you shake it,  do you hear the sounds of broken pieces?

Or did my voice of inspiration, tire of my restful nights?

All those times, I didn’t get up to write, and move to the girl next door?

Is my self-control lost in the flow of the ink blots?

Is that what it feels like to be cocked blocked?

Not being able to reach that thing you want, desire, burning with fire,

To get inside that creative mind, and write a line that will inspire and change lives,

Hypnotizing with lines, but my creative ink is dry.

Negative forces stealing my mind and my lines, I have been blocked!

No love, No lies, ink pen dry, can’t get next to you cause it is in my direct line.

So my love is trapped and there is no release,

All activity between my mind, my paper and my pen has ceased! Cocked blocked!

Playing the Field

Just walked out on my one true love.

Not quite sure why?

Just had so many things on my mind.

Other things began to occupy my life and I felt like I was living a lie.

I heard the sounds, tickling my ears, attempting to form words.

Hearing the beat line up with my heart.

Absent all skills but hooked on the art.

Can’t stay away, had to come out and play in the field of letters.

Build a few words, line upon line.

Till the sentences produced words that rhyme.

Coming together, the creation of poetry, the mad love affair between letters and me.

I just love to play the field.

Shed the Weight

black-women-fat

Standing in line at the check out, I observed a woman pull her cart up behind me. She was smiling and simply full of joy! The clerk greeted her with a, “Hey girl! How have you been?” She tossed a hip and stated, “Fine!” Still ringing my items, he replied, “You certainly are fine! Look how much weight you’ve loss!” I believed she danced a bit as she moved back and forth and screamed, “I lost 50lbs.” Everyone in ear shot smiled, especially the clerk. Although no one commented, the energy in the area was filled with happiness for her success. Her approximately 10 year- old son piped up, “I lost weight too!” As if he wanted to consume some of that unspoken attention.  I turned slightly to glance at the woman, mainly because loosing weight is a constant struggle in my life and I  know what hard work it is to loose 50lbs!    What I saw was a still slightly overweight Beauty Queen, excited about her accomplishment! I thought, Fifty pounds! Amazing! She must feel great!”

Thinking about the weight she lost and the journey she still had ahead of her, my voice of inspiration spoke. “What about the weight of Sin?” Sin lays on our hearts, minds, and  physical bodies much like that weight the woman carried around. Most of the world cannot see our battle scars of sin as easily as the bulges and pudginess that comes from overeating, but the weight is still there, separating us from the light.

The crime is increased when we realized that Jesus bared all of that weight so that we might live free.  I wonder what would have happen if the people who stood around that cross and watch my savior crucified would have begun to cry out, “No beat me! I’ll take that flogging! No let me carry the cross! Put the thistles of crown on my head!” I believe the story would be less about a Savior and more about the generosity of mankind.

The atrocity is that while we yet believe that he died on the cross for all of our sins, we continue to saunter around with the weight of sin! Stripping the power from the cross we choose to be seduced by death.  Appearing like an out of shape fat lady, dressed in a skirt two sizes two small, shoes overstuffed with what used to be petite feet, as if the cut off of circulation in our toes is not enough to signal that the shoe is too small. Face painted like an Easter Egg, deceiving only ourselves and pretending to the world we have it all together.  Jesus worked it out so that we can “Shed the Weight” and even better, never put it on! Leave the weight at the cross, He has already, carried, crucified, buried and risen for our sins!

HE HAS RISEN SO THAT WE MAY NEVER FALL!

May every reader benefit from this blog, but today, I am writing to me!

Would You Be Mines?

DSC_7586Would You Be Mines

My Valentines Day poem! I decided to recite this one for my readers!

Just click the title highlighted in red, then lay back and listen, let me take care of your artistic indulgence for today!

This poem is dedicated to my number one reader and commentator on this site, Mr. Earl11!

I appreciate you Mr. Earl! God Bless and Happy Valentines Day!

Still Searching

Looking at a map of the Great United States.Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH
Plotting a route of the trips I’d like to take.
Skipping over poverty, been there way to long!
Jumping over sorrow, my my I know that song!
Racing past pity, I have seen all I need.
Trying to obtain my destiny without visiting greed!
Can’t visit any forest without planting my seed,
For if not for us, there would be no evil deeds.
So many places to go, So many people to know,
So many things to give, I just wanna live, in Honesty!
Stand in Prayer! Sleep in Peace! Give without limits!
The state of the States, Crime! Poverty! & Hate!
Planning my trip, without the baggage of mistrust,
Not wanting to pack, “please don’t hurt me again!”
Forgetting on purpose, “I thought you were my friend!”
Leaving behind anger and despair.
Where I am going, there’s no place for you there…
Running to greet, Jesus is Lord!
Two helpings of Faith in my suitcase!
Sitting on top so i get in, “In GOD I will trust!”
Makeup bag filled with Love,
Left the lip liner on the bed and painted my lips with Mercy & Grace!
Packed determination in my carry on to assist in the race.
Dreaming of my trip! Where will Destiny take me?
Understanding that I have survived.
Yet knowing that I have not arrived!
I am still searching.