Black Poets should live—not leap
From steel bridges (Like the white boys do.
Black poets should live—not lay
Their necks on railroad tracks (like the white boys do.
Black Poets should seek—but not search too much
In sweet dark caves, nor hunt for snipe
Down psychic trails (like the white boys do.
For Black Poets belong to Black People. Are
The Flutes of Black Lovers. Are
The Organs of Black Sorrows. Are
The Trumpets of Black Warriors.
Let All Black poets die as trumpets,
And be buried in the dust of marching feet.
It hurts to know when you’ve been searching for the wrong thing. You never get your answer.
I care about the rush of emotions that comes with the joining of two highly favorable people. I care about every time you stay by my side for hours just because you can’t bare to let me go…or at least I can’t. I care about the constant reminders I get text after text expressing why I’m giving love a chance. I care about your ever flowing river of words, winding and winding and winding and winding to wash away the sorrows that stain my heart. I care about the balance you’ve made in me, the perfect yin the perfect yang. I care. I care about you.
"Won’t you settle down with me; settle down? We can settle a table, a table for two. Won’t you wine and dine with me, settle down?" - Kimbra
And yes…that’s my problem too.
I just wanna be skinny.
"A battle of the meatloaf tigers, in a sense, a way to develop natural nipples through a linear toothbrush kind of battle."
"You think that puppets have no soul, you taught them just to reach a goal."- Zalman.
"I wish I was a chair, so I could feel the pressure of your pillow. And if you wonder why I stare, it’s cus your sculpted to perfection…"-Phony Ppl
And…I like you. Not a baby to a pacifier like you. A your eyes to my eyes like you. Blush at my sur-prise like you. Brush hands two, three times like you. Suck my teeth at your lies like you. Cry when you cry like you. Travel from my side to your side like you. Sing love songs around you like you. Adele, Beyonce, Keri Hilson? like you. Sweet smells and make-up like you. Escape my pain like you. Forget my past like you. Explore my future like you. Forget that there are hands besides my own that make time progress like you. Inch myself a little closer like you. Make you sit down next to me like you. Remember you’re not mine and probably never will be like you. Seek a forbidden love for the sake of seeking love like you. Smile when I’m alone because of what you said at 10:02 yesterday like you. Deem myself comfortable, because that’s what you make me like you. Forget I just met you like you. Introduce you to my best friend like you. Text you nonstop like you. Comprehend what you can’t like you. Make you my form of art like you. Yeah…I like you.
I started writing because you did.. The swift strokes, subtle scratches against my notepad. It was all too familiar and something I dared to miss. The tender force driven between us was taunting. Making necessary means to strive for more, to get a hold of that passion; me. I watched the spaces in the margins carefully, angling my words in a perfect form that those pages would never forget. From that moment on I knew what I were to do, conquer those lines and become a part of that paper.