I am who, I am

Grown and all curled up 

to be unconciously wild

Bittersweet  like a late night crack

dribbling down my new devilish smile

Unrecognizable as I ought to be 

in my cold after dark skin

Carefree to how you want me to be;

physically and mentally trapped in your

 judgemental lens

I dont need no friends, no pretentious

 airs floating around me in my


Gloom when I want, rain or even sunrays

to burn away those sometimey tears

That may fall and sizzle on the tip of my 

toenails as I walk above the cloud 

But I’m above the hell you gave me, now

I persist to exist out loud

In time I’ll grow wings to tell you

and the world to see me later

I am who I said I am; the maker, 

the creator, the this life navigator

Everything Gone

Bitter airs and teeth chatter

letting it go, exhaling to whatever matters

To the winds that whisper, everything gone; be all right

uncomfortable in the dark and a refugee In The Light

Still vacancies, frowns and broken strings from hard desperate tugs

My cold heart still cracks and pops from your looks and warm hugs

And still I refuse to budge and escape this stinch

Love born over again from just a stare to keep me in love with a wrench



I remember how we moved together in spontaneous frames

Swaying in our time, crossing hearts, mixing and swapping love stains

Careless we were to the rising moons and to the setting suns

We wore each other proudly, as if we knew we were eternally One

Together we meant royalty with warm blood and deep love in our eyes

Giving birth to earth angels who would live on should ever our energy die

Tears and Rage (Mike Brown Murder)

Grey filled the evening sky from day
break beaten minds
of the cloud makers

who’s tears and black rage blazed
and boiled by the actions
of the Originator Life Takers

steadily claiming young black
lives wasted them
between the lines of black top streets

making claim to shame
slowly covering their forgotten crowns
in used white sheets

no justice, held
accountable no peace, to hold together
tampered with clues

what are they to do
hands up
because nobody moves

evidence left behind
from eighteen year
later abortions

tears and rage kept concealed
behind the yellow tape
of caution



At each end it ran
slow, down his forehead
and blurred his vision

no matter if he be free
or whether his body
cringed in prison

It always remained,
Peace fully wrapped in his fate
for his soul to listen

like it had to be;
something transcribed
since before his existence

The Little Park

summer Bronx streets was the father to my style

smelly old sneakers, dirty wife beaters; I was the funky funky child

bathing my lips in hot water fountains and spreading my genius on top of skelzie boards

while nappy headed girls jump around in their jellies, double dutch’n with old telephone cords

We raced our energy away while the sun set below the curves of flickering street lights

pretending not hear our mother’s call until the last one light, for all us kids to take flight

They Left Me

I hate to be left alone
or left behind and left for dead

flapping around in my tears
while playing suicidal soundtracks in my head

wishing to be in another place
in another time; I’ll be holding my breath

living life with the kiss of death
between my lips like a cigarette

puffing years away while fluffing
wild stones in my mental grave

and how I see the spirits of those
like me, giggling bye in waves

gone for days, without a warm hand
or the politeness of a gesture

they left me; sulking in badness with all
of my downtrodden thoughts to age and fester

Raise Me Up

My heart jumped around
all out of favor, preparing
this to be my very last breath

with my toes in syncronize rhythm
pounding down the concrete beat,
praying this to be just a test

muttering out unapologetic words
in between breathes
and exhaling in the name of Jesus

just me and my spirits
blazing down blacktops hoping
He’d recognize my thoughts and see us

as he did when I birthed
and took the first one,
inhaling screams to claim my presence

and now I ask
that he take a second look
and raise me up, out of Adolescence


It is my favorite place,
for grand interpretation and self
relief to seep through

to go to war in shadow
with my inner self
and chaotic residue

Where the back of my back
forms a mold on every inch
of all four walls

a place for me to stay
when I refuse conviction,
to firmly hold up my arms, I tall

against my inner monsters
who wiggle their fingers
and howl in muted moans

advocating for a flea
to return to the unconscious,
my comatose home