Long Time No Poetry
i resisted you for a while
and now that i’m letting you back in,
you seem to flood and nourish my insides
like much-needed rain.
old tricks no longer put me to sleep–
fingers can get sticky
and room can begin to fill with
aromatic citrus sweet musk;
body can relax,
but mind and heart fills up
with words.
Insomnia Haikus
explored the future;
caught back up with the present–
sleepless and tired.
i got all dressed up
in my birthday suit and yawn.
sleep forgot to come.
under my eyelids,
dreams are ready to be born;
no contractions yet.
Thought Terrorism
i do not want to be alone
with my own
thoughts.
they imprison me,
rape my day-to-day and invade
the wall of normalcy
that i build around me;
they kick the backs of my eyes
until tears start to form;
they tap dance in my throat
and tie knots too difficult to loosen
with my little tense fingers;
they hijack my trains of current thoughts
just when i am speaking midsentence, smiling
and talking on the surface
about surface topics
like my weekend.
what if i escaped them?
closed my eyes and locked
them out of my
brain so that i could
sleep soundly at night
and wake up feeling relaxed
and go about my days calmly;
so i could spend a day liesurely
without having a list of what i should be doing
appear before me;
so that i could smile and mean it,
live each moment honestly
and be free from what once controlled me.
Midnight Eyes
midnight eyes with dew on lashes
wish for love in the daylight–
a reason to burst with emotion
other than anger or tantrum.
if love were a tantrum,
how would it express its youth?
would it stomp hearts and scream obscenities such as
“Don’t leave me!” or “I need you?”
or would it just stream down tears of joy
and sit in a corner of the world known by most
but frowned upon
once left?
midnight eyes dream of stories in books
transformed into reality
so that days become pages
turned slowly and dog-eared for later reference,
an experience that good.
“That’s good,”
midnight eyes whisper when viewing
movies with method actors using realism
to display fantasy only realized in screens.
midnight eyes want to become alive,
want fiction to turn real–
not “keep it real” real,
but “blood pouring out of feet when glass is stepped on” real;
undeniable like the hour when yawns take over energy
and eyes get droopy until morning.
midnight eyes do not want to wake
until full moons shine too bright
and stars sink into sight lines without effort.
until then, midnight eyes stay closed
until sunrise.
Shadows
when i was a little girl,
i was not afraid of the dark,
but of shadows.
cluttered closet in Mama’s room
influenced the curious mind of a girl
too soon scared of the unknown.
i saw witches,
evil ones with big noses
and if i closed my eyes for long enough,
i could kind of hear them cackling.
maybe they concocted brews
and poured them into my orifices
once my restless eyes were rescued by sleep.
that is the only reason i can think of
as to why twenty years later,
shadows in my cluttered bedroom
make me turn on night lights.
shadows turn into figures in my overactive sight
and figures transform into men
lurking on the corners of my memory.
only this night,
i win.
i will sleep.
Love Experience Part 1
when i sleep,
i drool enough to keep a goldfish alive for the night.
one morning, i awoke
with my wet cheek attached to the bare chest
of my man holding me tight.
he opened his eyes and looked down,
then took one hand,
wiped the drool off,
kissed me on my forehead
and went back to sleep.
and i felt love.
The Politics of Need
i love hard so
to know this is true,
i’ll need you to love me
more than i love you,
to hold me tight
and let me breathe
and treat me right
and show me things.
i am vivid dreamer so
i will need you to see me in your sleep
more than i see you,
to picture me flying without falling
and beautiful in the midst of nonsense.
i am needy so
i’m gonna need you to stand on your own two,
to inspire me to walk instead of crawl
and when i fall, to pull me toward you.
even though i don’t need you
i’mma need you to need to
love me
and hold me
and need me
and teach me
to need me
too.
Love Me
i want you to love me,
not in that agape unconditional love type way,
but that “please baby please baby please” type way,
that get on your knees and pray
that God answers and allows us
to cross paths again type way,
that you remember my birthday
without Facebook or Myspace type way.
i want to be the last thought on your mind before you sleep
and that hot, sexy dream that wakes you
to make you change your sheets.
i want you to love me,
to wanna meet my mama, my daddy,
my siblings, friends, teachers, coworkers, distant cousins,
neighbors, acquaintances and fellow students,
not so you can stalk me,
but possibly learn how to have an influence
on my life so that one day,
you’ll be in that repertoire of
people to meet.
i want you to love me past my body
and baby, i know it’s banging
and you want to bang me
but here’s a thought–
make love to my insecurities and fears;
thrust your love deep inside to make me cum so hard
that they shake and disappear.
make my soul and future curl so tight
that if this is wrong,
i don’t wanna be right
and if this is dark,
then God shouldn’t let there be light
and because you always make my day,
i never want it to be night.
i don’t even know who you are yet
but i want you to love me,
to confirm that love lasts and exists
outside of stories and movies.
show me the positive side of life
that accompanies love
and maybe you’ll reaffirm my faith
with the Lord above
if i can see right before my eyes
just what it is that He does
and be able once more in my life
to let go
and let love.
Fake Lovers
we are fake lovers,
spinning on a broken record
that’s our jam
that causes us to dance
when we jump out of our crazy,
lonely lives to listen
to each other breathe into phone receivers
and wish for more.
we had more, baby.
we were Bonnie and Clyde
speeding down a highway
where reality chased
and there was no damn way
we were stepping on the brakes.
we were the Red Sea before
Moses lifted his staff to separate,
but now we live on two different sides–
there is dry land in between the wetness
that once lived in laughter that birthed tears
and bodies that danced in sheets without any cares
in the world but which one of us
will cum first.
“us” had come to an end
with no satisfaction
and now i wish i could wrap back then
in saran wrap or a silk napkin
and save the memories for when i am hungry.
i would eat them crumb by crumb for every night
i have to sleep alone with no one
beside me
or watch romantic movies
and end up sentimental and crying
or ponder the reasons
why love always seems to be dying
and dine on the times
when you and me were “we” thriving.
our love was alive like
Lazarus after Jesus wept
and we took steps
on a spiraling staircase that never seemed to end
until we tried to climb to future heights
and fell down to hell.
now shit is fire and i think you’re a liar
but even though you burned me
you’re still the best i’ve seen
with my near-sighted eyes
and i wish i could feel once more what we had.
and i wish we didn’t move so fast
from strangers to lovers to soul mates
to exes to strangers
to this phase
of sporadic late night phone calls
and empty promises
and reminiscing of good night kissing
instead of hanging up with uncertainty
of when we’ll speak again.
damn.
i miss my friend.
Diary of an Insomniac
i don’t sleep anymore
and i’m scared i’m gonna crack.
my body is slowly decomposing;
my mind is dry, thirsty soil
and my pillow is fertilizer but the smell
keeps me away.
..gotta stay busy…
gotta gotta gotta gotta
get goals accomplished.
who cares if i have been awake so long
that i can no longer focus?
keep working
even though i can no longer see straight.
every time i check the time,
i see that it’s too late
but i can’t seem to get my feet to touch the floor
to walk to bed.
plans rule the insides of my head
and i suffer from unfinished ones.
they are barrels to guns that rub my temples
and trace the outsides of my mouth.
i’m so tired that tears won’t even come out.
they stay in to assist in the caging in
of the insomnia that has overtaken me.
this altered state is pressure-filled
and i don’t know where it’s taking me.
all i know is that i feel verrry verrry sleeeeepy
and it’s already morning.
Their Fingers
their fingers range in colors
like shades of lipstick at a M.A.C. counter
and each tried to count her tears
but fell asleep with puddles of misery
seeping in her ears
and when they awoke with matted hair
stuck to the sides of their faces,
they realized that memory doesn’t erase itself
but only is kind and rewinds for new days of reliving
that which women wish were forgotten.
you should see their fingers…
some blackened by lighter flames,
some blistered by working many days, and some so soft,
you’d think they never worked a day in their life.
they use their fingers in many ways,
to touch the skin on their own bodies
or to point them at thieves who tried to reprogram their use
to only hush their own concerns and stay folded and numb.
their fingers are beautiful
but afraid to reach out because reaching out
sometimes results in someone pushing in;
being nice sometimes results in violation
and sometimes tips of fingers get bitten so that they are ineffective
and can’t redial the police when necessary
or wave together at bystanders who could offer assistance.
their fingers sometimes get limp
but are able to dance late at night when sleep should dominate
and able to scratch and sniff good times
and magic erase tragedy and blur together evenly
so that fingers make up women survivors who learn to smile again
and band again and move again
and be again and be even more than
just fingers
but whole persons, complete humans
ranging in shades to create
a beautiful prism of survivors
of pain.
I Used to Pray
i swear i used to pray daily
but then one evening before i went to sleep,
i stood up and saw that the skin on my knees
was crackly like sandpaper.
so i stopped stooping down so far to the ground
and prayed laying down
but i would be traveling to far away towns of REM sleep
before i would even complete thoughts
or say “Amen”
and then
i’d be awake and what i wanted to ask for would not be.
it’s been so long that i’m scared God won’t wanna hear from me
like he’ll find my voice ugly
or unrecognizable and tell me i dialed the wrong number
that i should try again and next time call my selfishness
and if she hangs up,
reach out to my cynicism
and get on three-way with my doubt
and click over and talk to vulgarity
because she is always on the other line.
i stay up for hours every night talking on the phone
to the identities of mine that have made a home
in my psyche.
i’ve sent eviction notices but they won’t leave,
tormenting my every steps
and i never know what will come next
and all the fighting leaves me perplexed
and unable to bend down to my knees again
for wanting to avoid the experience
of hurting myself by hoping
for the uncertain.
The Overdue Goodbye
i often wonder if
when you sleep at night in a room by yourself,
you still feel as if
you’re locked down in a cell.
no longer 6 x 6 x 6
but really, what is your existence?
my heart feels trapped in jail with you
and i miss visiting hours often–
sometimes i get turned away because
my clothes are too tight or my attitude just ain’t right
or i can’t beat the traffic of nightly rush hour.
this sentence is sour.
you are free, but an inmate
and if i remember correctly,
your # was 98028618
but i don’t remember the exact date
when i decided i couldn’t love you anymore.
at times i feel torn,
knowing that you walk free and i am lonely
and that your dream is you and me
and as a result,
my curiosity fuels me to drive down dark alleys
that are dead ends.
i can no longer pretend that we have a future.
i look at the present
and see the ramifications of the past
and cry over wasted youth and good times
and silly mistakes and getting by
and tattooing our skin to show our love lines
and covering up the one of you that was mine
and replacing you,
erasing you with new memories and new guys,
some who hurt me worse than you
but at least they are fresh wounds.
baby, i miss you
as much as i act like i don’t
but i missed me more,
didn’t even recognize myself after i walked in doors,
was an empty shell whose spirit was piss-poor
and i ain’t rich yet
but i ain’t fully switched yet
and when my new channel comes through past the static
i won’t forget what we had.
my first love, free jailbird,
my old siamese twin lovebird,
if i could say one word to you right now,
as much as it hurts me inside,
i would finally say
the overdue
goodbye.
Conflicted
in a tug of war of satisfaction,
i am pulled rather roughly
in two directions,
forced to face the decision
of picking who i appease,
to make a choice that’s concrete–
them or me.
it is tempting to succumb
to the “them” side,
to fold myself to live in my pocket
and make friends with lint and such
but i crave so much
to be able to sleep at night
and not wonder about who loves me
because if i choose right,
then obviously,
i love me
and i will then laugh beautifully,
leave awe-inspired and free
because finally
i could say with confidence:
i chose
me.
How High
i glide past tree tops at eye level
and wonder if this
is the highest i’ll ever soar.
i always imagined myself closer to the sun
so that my rich hershey kiss skin
could toast like almonds
while still remaining sweet;
so for once i could feel the air
and rest my tired feet.
in my head when i lay down for bed,
my pillows transform into clouds
as i float away for hours
that only last for minutes.
i wake up with the desire to travel again,
rub my eyes and hope i’ll see the sky
surrounding me for more than
fleeting moments in window seats of trains,
looking out at tree tops
hoping that my time in the air
will be higher up in the atmosphere
and that it will stretch for longer
than a few train stops.
i want to float all around,
not just between here and there,
spending too much time underground
so my eyes sting from simple things
like the sun when skies are clear.
the green leaves seem too bright
because my eyes have gotten used to night.
i want white, yellow, orange and blue
to be comforting for my eyes to see
i want to talk to eagles when they land
and ask them if they remember me
and when they reply “yes,”
i want them to beg me to fly once more,
to join them in a place
where i don’t have to be confined
by doors.
it’s hard to ignore
while i sit looking out of the window,
observing the world around me
that i am bigger than
all of the trees that surround me,
taller than everything
that tries so hard to ground me
and meant to elevate to wherever the wind goes.
so as i wonder if the train tracks are the highest
i’ll ever soar
i can confidently say, the answer is no
and that these wings of mine
will carry me to see so much more.
Bullied
i had a dream that i was
living out my fantasy and when
i woke up, i begged God to
let me be asleep.
latent images sit on the
edges of my mind and i
pray for the days when
these pictures will be a reality.
my dreams tease me like bullies,
stealing my lunch money
and kicking me when they please.
i try to speak up for myself
but before i can even choose my words
i realize that to fight back against my own wants
is rather absurd.
i guess it’s better to be beat up by dreams
than to close my eyes at night
only to envision nothing.
perhaps it’s more advantageous to experience pain
than have an empty, aimless brain.
so i relish in the wounds and count my scars,
smile with knocked out teeth
and stretch my sore body parts,
let my black eyes water with the possibility
that one day i will
live out my fantasy
and when i lay down to sleep,
beg God
for morning.
Sleepwalker
tired and restless
i have a hard time
taking time to unwind
and by the time that my mind
finally settles
and stops lingering on things,
the alarm rings.
i walk through my days
in an REM state,
wondering how much greater they would be
if i were actually awake,
if i could actually sleep
instead of staying up to the wee hours
counting the sheep
that represent all that i have not done.
they “Baaa” my way
while i try to find a way
to push them away
and let my dreams come alive.
time for shut eye,
open, active mind,
never enough time
to unwind…
Time for Revenge
she brandished a gun without fear.
fear had fallen out her bedroom window while
reaching out and grabbing for her trust of humanity.
so now she relished in the feel of cold steel.
it warmed up the steam coming out of her ears
and the fire that burned in her heart.
now was the time for revenge…
prescription pills could never give her this feeling.
unanswered prayers could never provide the healing
that she so desperately looked for
so shakingly she knocked at the door,
brandishing a gun without fear.
she no longer cared,
she was no longer scared,
no longer normal.
whatever normal means was erased by her rape.
now was the time for revenge…
time to claim what was lost,
time for this segment of her saga to end.
she was no longer a victim but victimizer,
no longer the controlled but the controller,
no longer lost but herself like God with plans
because here at this moment, she had life in her hands.
“Funny how the tables turn,” she chuckled
as she turned toward the man
who had stolen her future without knowing.
she laughed some more at the tear running down his right eye,
elated that his true coward colors were showing.
now was the time for revenge…
she brandished a gun without fear finally feeling
like she was achieving her freedom.
her finger on the trigger trembled from excitement
of actually having a chance to fight back,
but when she finally pulled back,
all she heard was “CLICK!”
and then the beeping of an alarm clock
and a feeling in her belly that made her sick.
dreams of killing were the only thing
that satisfied her desire for winning back what was taken.
she couldn’t do it in real life
and she hoped that in her dreams she might
carry out the bloody plan that played over and over in her head,
but here she is lying in bed,
still subject to screams of silence
and inward anger growing more intense
and the aftermath of life events
that leave her tortured, tense
and truly terrified of tomorrow.
she brandishes her nightmares with fear.
she brandishes her life with fear,
fearing that
there is no real time for revenge.
Place of Belonging
i do not belong here in this world.
there is no real place for me.
if there is one, it is probably in between
the cracks of a brick building
where no one could see
and i feel pressure coming
from all sides.
i have so much brewing on my insides
that i could open up a factory
and produce emotions unknown to most
on an assembly line of mundane days
and fake smiles
and going to sleep with the hope
that tomorrow will not be as sad
and waking up the next day disappointed that
it is.
i do not know where i belong–
perhaps in an ocean where waves crash and hit me
so that i can wake up swimming and feeling
alive,
so my bruised and atrophied
muscle of a heart can beat
with some sort of energy,
so that numbness will no longer be
a defining factor of me.
i am out of place in this atmosphere where daily
i walk around without my body.
i do not wish to exist in the spirit realm
where the shell of me is lying and trying
to convince others that she
is whole.
i do not belong in a world where
i constantly have to control
my moods and curb
my frustration
and cry
silently
and smile
automatically
and fail
miserably
at being
happy.
i do not belong in this mental state
and i am hoping that one day
i will find my spot where life feels safe,
where grief and hiding abates
and i can finally step
forward
and look in the mirror
at my own face and see
that there is purpose to this pain
and i do
belong
in this world.
Sleeping Woman
i’m so tired.
i wish i could sleep
for a week straight
and not be interrupted by anyone
knocking on my consciousness’ door,
just get up to pee and eat
and then sleep some more,
watch old movies in my waking moments
and imagine myself in those worlds
because this world
just makes me want to retreat.
i just want to sleep,
let the heaviness in my heart
switch to my eyelids and dream
what is the opposite of life.
in my dreams i would fly,
i would smile, i would
love and feel and experience
so much. i would just
dream and dream until my existence was
no longer a nightmare and i no longer
felt scared
to be in this world,
where i no longer wanted
to just sleep because i can’t stand
being awake.
being up is so hard and
i just want to lay down,
stretch out my limbs and
never have to think about
my pain again.
i want to sleep because
sleep is the cousin of death
and life is too much.
i just want to sleep until my healing comes
and i no longer have to hide behind closed eyes
and a weary mind and the fear of being kind
because mistreated kindness leads to
blindness, which causes the desire to
sleep.
Vegetarian (Revised 7-9-08)
i was a vegetarian for 7 days,
walked around on a high,
bragged about the 5
pounds i lost,
the extra pep in my step in the mornings
and my glow that was noticeable to strangers.
but after those 7 days,
nourishment left
my body.
i was no longer fulfilled
because the food that i needed to fill
my belly
was not vegetables but
peace.
peace left so much that i needed a piece of a peace pill
just to make it through the day
and a whole of the peace pill so i could be sure i’d sleep the night away.
vegetables no longer sufficed.
i was hanging on strings like a marionette
head bobbing, soul vacant,
arms moving one way and legs moving another,
disconnected and needing to be pulled together
and still
no energy.
the vegetables were so good!
they gave me leverage and confidence in a
society that is fast food-fried, overrated and hydrogenated
but my nature was gone.
i was forced to turn processed because life is a process and i am in process and
i see little progress
just objects
that are normal to most people but affect
me:
books are too much, life is too much,
screens are too much, looks are too much,
closeness is too much, rain is too much,
truth is too much,
i tremble at accidental touch.
i need more peace.
my diet
was adjusted,
my daily life
disrupted
without warning.
if there was a sign to tell me that i would experience such things
i would have bucked a U,
avoided U
street,
made an illegal turn to
get the hell up out of dodge from hell
street,
but it was too late.
i got sucked
into suffering shivering solitude
scrutiny examinations hollow moods
and for what?
i was a vegetarian for 7 times 7 days,
then i became a pescatarian
because it was supposedly time to celebrate
but despite the cards and family and gown,
i did not graduate
from this experience.
they say experience
is the best teacher
so please, if you happen to see her,
tap her on the shoulder and tell her she’s out of control.
tell her i’m reporting her to the Board of Education because
i was a child left behind in the cold.
i was still shaken or maybe stirred
but somehow things got a little brighter.
i let love lead me
but less vegetables feed me
imaginary peace fooled me
and the quest to move on ruled me
i had to prove to everyone and me
that i had made it,
that i was strong,
but little did i know that this was not over,
that it may never be over,
and that the peace that once existed
was gone.
i was a vegetarian
back at a time when i had peace
and 82 days later, i ate a piece
of chicken and as i felt the grease
get stuck in my throat,
i realized i was unsatisfied with meat
because my life, my body,
my meat
was viciously stolen from me.
i identified with the chicken!
i was slaughtered
and ran around with my head cut off.
unsympathetically,
my case was wrapped up,
my vegetables were hidden,
i was robbed at heart-point
and i don’t know how to get my stuff
or my nourishment
back.
Insomnia
*Written June 25, 2008*
i’m weary of sleep
something about it scares me
cuz when i’m awake,
i can change where my thoughts go,
but when i’m asleep,
they roam free, haunt me, and push me in corners
i don’t want to go in
and the only escape
is to be awake, but by then it’s too late
because those thoughts have managed to permeate my day.
my head throbs, my eyes burn,
and i dread going to sleep again
with the fear that those images will return.
Pearls From Pain 
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