Lost From the Future and the Past

What if I were to fall for him?
Where would that leave me standing?

Would I be caught up in fantasies and constantly demanding his touch?
Or would the light I once held slowly fade to dim?
Honestly, would we even last or crash?

He kills me with every look.
He is able to read me like a book especially when my legs open like pages.

And as I spread my legs and wrap them around his back like a Georgian vine,
I became his crazy Kudzu as I feel his soul.
And when I am lost in him, I react to thoughts of our
future,
present,
and past.

If I knew the man he was, in his hands my hands would not be.
If he knew the woman I was, I would not be holding a key to his heart.
For my heart was black, stained by pain.
And every song I sang reigned with my shame.
I was a crippled songstress.

My lips would not have been something he would kiss for they destroyed
Minds by the whip of my tongue.
Every guy that I had, I broke them down because it was fun.
I was a horrible person and I relished in my destruction.

But then I saw him, the love of my existence, trying to fix his own corruption.
I saw him at the local bar, sitting on the stage.
And even with his head down, hands slightly hitting the drums,
I knew he complimented my struggles and my dreams, my past ad my future.

He was older, yes, and I did not know his story but I knew where he was
Trying to go and his look just floored me.
He was sad and dark.
But as he looked to the audience, the dim from his halfway smile left a mark.

I knew I loved him from the start.

He began singing while slightly hitting the drums.
The audience's ears were pierced by his voice.
But all I heard was a cry for help coupled with the natural instinct to run.

Determined to make our solo a duet, I walked to the stage and stared into his eyes.
I wanted us to see one another and let our old selves die.

I extended my hand and he helped me onto the stage; the
Rhythm of the drums vibrating our touch.
I took the mic and provided a small melody, nothing more nothing less.
Our love, our song was simple.

When our song was over and the claps ensued, he took my hand as we walked off the stage.
When we sat down, it seemed we were both free from our cages by the
Sound of each other's name…

Laying next to him now,
Watching the sun kiss his skin,
I begin to smile at our future beginnings.

So what if I were to fall for him.
How often does happiness occur?

If my dim fire were to fade to darkness,
I know I will be reignited by the love of this man.

Colors

I am known as black,

But in actuality my skin tone is a shade of brown.

The way I form my words causes my peers

to mock me as white.

So you see, I often find myself in a

spectrum of confusion.

My world, for the most part is always a sky blue,

filled with possibilities and opportunities; the world is not a

burden, it’s an oyster.  

And once you get to know me, oh how

I shine bright, mirroring a yellow hue!

But sometimes green comes over me and

I am envious.

I am envious when I see money,

When I see people in magazines,

When I see portraits of similar physiques that

Will never be my physique.

So to the bathroom I run.

And in the toilet I see

different colors, I see me.

I see a sickness.

I see an obsession.

I see self-hate.

I see loss.

I see society.

I see a destructive perception.

And in the mist of all those colors,

I see the color pink.

Pink, pink, pink.

“Pink is sexy; pink equals pretty; pink makes the guys wink.”

Thinking about my youth, I realized that my spirit was once

A vibrant red.

But then over the years, it began to be washed away.

The first coat of white wash: The Social Construct of What a Female Should Be;

“You are a girl. Be a girl and look pretty.”

The second coat: How to Be Loved;

“If you want a guy, if you want to be loved, COOK A MEAL AND DUMB IT DOWN!”

And the third coat: The Idea of Success;

“Success for you is not measured in your accolades or ingenuity. No, your success, my sweet,

Pretty girl is measured in marriage and children.”

So now here I stand,

Stained in the color pink. Yuck!

When people look past my brown skin,

Or no longer see me as a black female or no longer

her my white speech patterns, they see pink.

It has come to the point, that it is imperative for them

To see pink.

They want to see something worth looking at

And not worth hearing; my red is unacceptable.

My blue is unfathomable; it is just

Simply unheard of to be ambitious. According to them, my world should revolve around

Children and men, not possibilities, not opportunities.

My color green is befriended with the color pink.

Pink loves green and green loves pink; unworthiness meet hatred.

They feed each other through their favorite spoon: insecurity.

The color pink,

A diluted red that perpetuates female servitude.

“Be a girl, wear pink! Be a lady, love pink! You with the ovaries, forever think pink!”

No one wants to see my courageous purple heart

Or see my blue sky of possibilities.

All they want to see is me being pretty in pink.

Yes I Poop, Yes I Cry. Sometimes At The Same Time [A Child's Poem]

[Girl]

Yes I poop, Yes I Cry.

Sometimes at the same time.

I am a female, with female parts.

With these parts my humanity starts.

My chest are tools for reproduction.

My privates are as well.

My hands carve the world I live in;

magic runs through my phalanges.

So don’t be surprised by my capabilities

or when I excel.

My tummy holds my food.

My feet helps me stand.

My toes keep me balance,

so I can dance, dance, dance.

I like to move;

it keeps my body healthy.

Eating is important because

it gives me energy.

Since what goes in must come out,

pooping is what cleanses me.

I poop because I’m human and

my body is working right.

So when the smell comes,

don’t be so uptight.

Relax, relax, relax and

embrace your humanity.

Enjoy the beauty of you

or risk your sanity.

[Boy]

Yes I poop, Yes I Cry.

Sometimes at the same time.

I am male; the female is my counter-partner.

Like the female, with my parts,

my humanity starts.

I have one tool for reproduction;

it’s located in my private part.

I also have a very important muscle

in my chest, called the heart.

It pumps my blood, which keeps my body working.

It also helps me breath; that’s because of oxygen.

So when I eat and when I play, I keep my heart

on my mind and never do the extreme.

My arms help me hold things.

My legs allow me to walk.

When I’m really excited, my brain

helps me talk.

My mouth helps me taste.

My nose is for smell.

My back holds me up.

My butt is my tail.

I poop too, but I

can also cry.

Tears express my feelings; they

come from my eyes.

Feelings are not just hers.

I feel because I’m working right.

So when I express myself

don’t be so uptight.

Relax, relax, relax and

embrace your humanity.

Enjoy the beauty of you

or risk your sanity.

Foreboden Fruit

When I hear his voice,
When I see his face,
my heart drops because
my infatuation makes me
weak.

As I fall to my knees,
his gentle lips caress me
and give me ease.

He is my foreboden fruit.

When he touches my hand,
When he holds my hair,
my mind screams with
fantasies.

As I lay in bed stressed,
his loving body lays next
to me and in his
arms I fall asleep.

No good will come of this.

When he stares into my eyes,
When I see his smile,
I become lost in
him.

I want to be lost in him.

No good will come of this.

As I fall to my knees,
As I lay on the ground,
clutching my heart because of the pain,
his gentle lips caress me,
his loving arms pick me to my
feet.

He looks into my eyes,
wiping the tears as they fall.
And as I kissed his cheek,
his ghost was no longer
in front of me.

He was my foreboden fruit.


*This poem is dedicated to those who have lost a significant other.*

Silly Me

My lullaby
is his favorite song.

Every night it is played and
every night into a deep slumber I fall,
only to be awakened by
the buzzing cicadas,
living but life-less trees, and
a licking dog.

His favorite song fills the room,
moves through my ears, and then
ricochets off my heart into my soul.
All this is done through his voice.

When he sings,
he sings with joy.
His joy brings me joy.
It is only then
we are connected.

I am lost.
I don't know how
or when I will be
in his heart.

When he speaks,
it is a common tongue.
Words passerbyers use.

He doesn't care
the way my
fantasy of him does.

(silence- Cicadas buzzing)

Silly me.
Silly me.
Silly me.
A 'silly us'
we will never be.

Cuïnty (short stories collection)

I knew I was gay the day I become a vegetarian. For some reason meat was no longer appealing to me; in actuality it became gross. I was 11 yrs. old.
I didn't tell anybody, not because of fear of being outcasted, but because I knew they would try to ruin who I am.
I don't know if I was born gay; I always liked what I liked regardless of who it was meant for. So when I started to act on my feelings, I wasn't doing it just because, I was just doing me.

Now let's go back. I realized I was gay at 11 yrs but I didn't act on it until I was 15 yrs old. In high school, it's easier to find where you belong than in middle school. By this time, I was a full blown vegetarian, on the track team with honor roll. I had a beautiful girlfriend and nobody really fucked with me because my family was crazy, like an Addams family crazy.
My life was good for the most part but one day at school, that changed when I smelled the most delicious thing: meat.

The smell hit me on hump day, a Wednesday morning as I was walking late to 2nd period. I was minding my business when I walked past the home economics room. Students usually skipped home ec so I was surprised to see a student who I've never seen before in class, cooking. When I walked inside to see if I could get a cookie from Mr. Hours, the home ec teacher, the smell of delicious, delightful, mouth watering meat infiltrated my nose. Usually the smell of meat made me want to throw up, it even suffocated me at times. But this time it was different. I wanted that thing in my mouth so bad. Without even thinking I reached into the plate. I could imagine the ultimate moment in which me and that meat would touch when I was stopped by a slap to my hand. I didn't even see the student standing there.

"Hey!! Stop!" said the student as he hit my hand.

Looking up, I saw looking at me a beautiful young man. With ginger hair, pale skin, and hazel green eyes. Ginger kids were not my style but he, he was sexy. Like a sexy ghost, like a sexy Casper when Casper was still in ghost form but sexier. I wanted him and I wanted his meat.

"Sorry but your meat smells so good."

"Excuse me?" said sexy Casper

"What's your name?"

"Casper." said sexy Casper

"Wow, that's crazy. In my head I was calling you sexy Casper."

"That's inappropriate" said sexy Casper

"How so, you are freaking hawt!"

"Thank you but I have to get back to cooking." said sexy Casper

He began walking away from me but I couldn't let this opportunity pass.

"Ok, I'm sorry. Let's start over. My name is Cuïnty but people call me  T for short."

"Have they ever called you cunt?" said sexy Casper

"Yeah but then I broke their nose. So now they don't do it anymore."

Watching him work on the second piece of meat I was mesmerized.
" So what are you making?"

"I'm just seasoning a steak."

"It smells good."

"Thanks."

He smiled at me with his beautiful lips and teeth. The only thing that kept me from reaching over to kiss him was my desire for his steak.

"Would you like to taste the first one I made." said sexy Casper

To excited to speak, the only thing I could do was nod my head.
He cut off a piece for me. Got another plate and put my piece on the second plate. He got a fork and knife for me and gave me my plate. He was what one would call a gentleman. I wasn't into "gentle" and I definitetly wasn't into "men" but he was different. He was someone I could get used to.
I usually eat with my hands but I couldn't imagine missing the full experience of this steak so I used the knife and fork.
When I put it in my mouth he watched me. Staring into his hazel-green eyes I just wanted him and his food. With our eyes locked, I put his meat into my mouth and I was off. It was so good. It ignited all my senses, some I didn't even know I could still use. I was lost in this meat. Making so many noises and motion of satisfaction. And as I was coming down from my high, something got me started again. Sexy Casper touched my hand.

"Was it really that good?" said sexy Casper

"Oh shit, sexy Casper! You are going to make me cum.
Please let go of me and don't talk."

He let go.
I sat there for a minute or two, trying to recuperate. He began attending to the second meat when I opened my eyes. He looked at me with a smile of approval. I just stared at him.

"Good?" said sexy Casper

I got up and walked over to him. I  did that movie thing that actors do right before they kiss someone, look into their eyes as if they are searching for something. Man! I was caught in the moment and I didn't care. He was so fucking sexy.
When I approached him and touched his chest my body was on fire again. I began kissing him like I was missing something I hadn't had in a long time. The best part about it besides him kissing back was that we were engulfed in the delicious smell of his meat.

"You are intense." said sexy Casper

I started unbuttoning his shirt. I wanted him so bad!

"What in Betty Crocker are you two doing?" said Mr. Hours

Like a hata magnet was pulling us apart we separated immediately when Mr. Hours walked in.

"We weren't doing anything." said sexy Casper

"Just cooking."

"Oh please! Cuïnty go to class."
"And Casper I thought I could trust you in here by yourself." said Mr. Hours.

"Oh shit! Class!"
" I gotta go! Nice to meet you sexy Casper."

I gathered up my stuff and ran to class. I carry extra tardy passes with me just in case something comes up. As I rushed into class and put my pass down, I sat next to my girlfriend.

"What the hell happened?" said  Zeta
"Why are you so late."

"I stopped by the home ec room."

"And did you get any?" said Zeta

"What?! Get what?"

"Any cookies girl!" said Zeta

"Oh, no. Mr. Hours didn't have any today."

She shrugged her shoulders.
I came in just in time for our pop quiz. Our teacher was passing out the test paper.

"T?" said Zeta
"Why do you smell like meat?"

"What? I don't smell like-

I began sniffing my shirt and immediately I was reminded of sexy Casper. The teacher walked by and told us to 'shh'.
I didn't want to say anything more so I just put finger to my lips in a quiet motion to Zeta. She shook her head like 'whatever.' As I was taking the quiz I began gnawing on my shirt...

Poverty

Poverty love is the most romantic.

He had nothing and because of 

that he gave his love.

For him this saying holds no truth,

“You are rich, yet you want to

be loved as if you are poor.”

For him, he was poor but loved as

if he knew no hunger;

as if he knew no poverty.

Countless hours, for days we were never granted,

were spent chatting.

Caressing the thought of time stopping and staying

for a day or two in each others arms.

Kissing away our doubts as the day 

came too quickly to an end;

As darkness quickly surrounded us.

I was reminded that he was poor.

That his love, molded by poverty came at a price.

Because for him to maintain the little

he has he must work;

He must earn in order to sustain.

But did I need his money?

No.

His money met nothing to me for his love 

was the sweetest I ever tasted.

The love of a poor man was 
indeed my greatest riches.

(inspired by the film “Queen of Hearts”)