Triggered Colonizers

 

They are not triggered by our existence
but rather by their own resistance to the inevitable
to truth, facts, accountability and true spirituality

choosing instead to rebrand, repurpose, and water down our spiritual teachings 

into more palatable, bite sized, commercialized, monetized, soulless soundbites 

used to control and manipulate. 

They are not triggered by our existence
but our resistance to their supremacy. 

Our steadfast refusal and ability to not only survive, but thrive, 

despite the obstacles placed in our way

forces them to question the fallacy of supremacy

forces them to compete

against those they claim are inferior

not understanding why mediocracy is no longer enough.

They are not triggered by our existence
but rather the reflection of their crimes 
on our beautiful, strong, glistening black bodies. 

They are not triggered by our existence

but at the fact that our souls continue to sing, dance, create

while they've sold theirs for the sake of "whiteness"

disregarded the heritage and music of their ancestors, while

wondering where their rhythm went. 

Desperate for a sense of rightness, wholeness

they rebrand and appropriate the culture, religion, art, and philosophies 

of those they've colonized

hoping it will fill the void 

while positioning themselves as the authority on the subject

and wonder why they aren't invited to "closed practices". 

Enough

Grow up already

Break the colonizer mindset

Find yourselves, Save yourselves
Embrace us and your ancestors will embrace you.

Keeping the Old Gods at Bay

Sometimes I find myself 
wondering
are man-made 
karmic catastrophes
merely sacrifices 
on a grand enough scale
used to keep the 
gods of old
satiated and asleep?

Coming of Age During the Summer of Sam

  

Anchored to a deaf beat

young love

or games of tag and “not it”

playing under twilight and flickering lamp posts

necking, dubbing tapes,

gathering in school yards

or walking tentatively

hand in hand with your first crush

urban willows, shoestrings and sneakers

doing the moon walk in the air

beneath the wire and the stars

while mothers called us all home from

broken windows and rusted fire escapes.

avoid parked cars and parks.

dye your hair, be home before dark

We knew what it meant to be grounded

During the summer of Sam.

We did a thing, but at what cost?

 

We did a thing, but at what cost?

 

Back then

Back when

Some how

Some way

We got it done

We done did it

We did a thing

We built nations

We won the day

But lost the way.

Parasitic Mimics & Lost Roots

 

You mirror the flavor and rhythm of those around you
because your forefathers sacrificed their souls for greed.

What are you without our music
Our conquered spices and cadence
Our purple and blue dyes?

You are not “white”, you’re Americans of European descent
The richness of your “chosen culture” is based upon
contributions, stolen or borrowed, from cultures you’ve been taught to revile
or those you were told to sacrifice
to the alter of homogenous “whiteness”.

Your own ancestors cry out
for you have forsaken their traditions, their rhythms, language
Soul eaters, your souls remain ravenous
because you’ve left your own table behind.

Embracing the notion of supremacy
a hole ridden blanket
a poor substitute for
the armor of self-knowledge and the
rich inheritance of culture of your people.

Many gape, unable to comprehend your willingness to cast aside your true history

while they've had theirs stolen from them. 

We are all victims,
marks for supremacy
by design.
While the oppressor 

romanticizes oppression and fetishizes victimhood
based on the lies they’ve fed all from infancy
We’ve been suckled at the teats of 

forgetfulness and hate.
 

Privileged Rotton Eggs

 
It is interesting to me how the handsome and beautiful
are afforded all empathy and assumed innocence
regardless of circumstances.
 
They were gifted with looks, charm, privilege
and in some instances, wealth, and yet, when
caught committing an egregious crime, be it of passion or malaise
our learned response is to think:
      “There must have been a reason, mental health issue, they have their whole lives ahead of them, 

       surely something can be said to justify and mitigate their guilt”.

The attractive, those who confirm to the current standard of beauty,
are assumed noble and right, regardless of motive, intent, or bloody aftermath
and thusly shielded
all their lives with this “get out of jail free” card,
lacking accountability
They think themselves godly.
 
Let me tell you something,
The eggs were always rotten.  

Deathbed

I can still smell

the cloyingly sweet smell of decay

so intermingled with the smell of you

remembered from my youth

I am forced to cry and long for both

knowing time is short. 

Playing with my food

 

Bury me with Alphabet Soup

Where I can swim and remake my stories daily

While eating the best of whatever the letters

Have to offer me

Sans salmonella and judgement

pomp and fancy circumstances

I wanna play with my food

Etch-a-sketch tater tots and build a fort

Yeah, tater tots, oh shit, not enough “t’s”

Ok, just Tots then.

Money is God

 

In our reality Money is God
and only the “Have’s” are worthy of acknowledgement.
and yet,
behind all these faces are minds
behind all these minds are souls.

We are made to forget, these souls
are pieces of the infinite
which we no longer recognize, revere, or respect.

For it is much more convenient to
make all of us cattle
to be herded and butchered
fodder for a gristmill that only benefits the “have’s”
With a Nietzschean hope of an afterlife of reward and rest.  

Checking the Ego's Inner Dialogue

 

Why are they backing up into us?

they are still backing up

closer

closer

look at this bitch

what the fuck

(deep breath, checks self)

wait,

what is she backing up from?

Broken Adventure Book

 

Remember those books that have choices
between chapters
So that you could choose the direction of the story?
 
Yeah, that’s me
Nostrils deep in the 7^th chapter
unable to make a choice
because my mind has expanded too far
I see all paths at once.
 

Bombarded
I am overwhelmed & Stilled
Handicapped from moving forward
for fear bad choices and cataclysmic consequences.

Curry

The story of our rich diaspora

can best be told in the language of the curry

our ancestors carried to every continent and shore.

Manufactured Outrage & Learned Responses

Sometimes I am inundated

with unbidden indoctrinated responses,

learned outrage and

fallacious concerns.

 

Where is my true voice,

under the morass of sticky insidious opinions &

residual offal left over from the

fungal puritanical imperialist bullshit

and its notions of superiority and beauty?

Think Before Oversharing

Before responding, 

Ask yourself "WAIT"
     Why
     Am
     I 
     Talking. 

Acknowledge vocally
related internally
unless asked
Rince & Repeat.

Multiverse of Beautiful Complexity

It’s a strange and twisted alchemy

If you think about it.

We are all of us

minds, spirits, conscious entities, energy,

call it what you will,

stuck in these curiously limited and fragile

yet amazing bags of meat,

suffering our learned, actual, and perceived realities

with our own stories and baggage

and the stories we imagine, project, or know of others.

 

All swimming around each other

little ambulatory sacks of ego & chaos

spinning like planets

unable to embrace the multiverse of beautiful complexity

that is humanity in all its forms.

Alchemist

 

Seeing pieces of me

I recognize

In those around me

I do the work

Uncensored mirror in hand

I watch

I listen

I see

I hear

I learn

I evolve

I am an alchemist.

The Continuation of My Ancestor’s Stories

I live my research, decoding humanity
while surviving the chaos of its spiritual evolution.
Looking for my ancestors
I climb through my Roots
through the Crowning
toward the Sun
Reliving the memories of my Ancestors on every Branch
Vibrating in my Bones
From teeth to toes
their generational Joys, and their Woe
reverberate through my very existence.
 
My Heart,
a metronome,
its rhythmic tick ticking
a treble to the base in my soul,
the steel drums in my feet
and the aria in my mind,
made up of the songs in my DNA
from every side of every Ocean
of which I am Honor bound
to find a way to continue the
Story of my Ancestors
their Song
with My Own Notes.

Indigenous

 

Wherever our feet take us

we have the right to call home

for our ancestors planted their first.

we seeded the fertile lands of the globe

we've given birth to nations so old

they've forgotten where they came from. 

Reluctant Witness

 

Like the sun, the moon and stars

I am glutton for punishment

returning cyclically to

subject myself

daily

to the infinite fall of man.

Possessed, Obsessed, & Psychically Undressed

 

Pheromone intoxication

disquieted disposition

fearful anticipation

overwrought

overstimulated

ill prepared

untrained

... at odds with myself

in front of the mirror you hold.

Can I commit the sin without committing to it?

Perhaps I am wretched

and underserving of satisfaction? 

Haunted by Invitation

 

Wherever i am

i feel Your eyes on me,

hear Your imagined whispered commands.

The thrill of your excitement ensnares me

Without even a touch

i am

repeatedly Undone.

Haunted by your unspoken invitation to submit.

Confessions hold no weight amongst the Guilty

while the Will battles notions of

Ego and Surrender,

Sacrifice and Desire.

Prayers with Opposed ends,

seek Absolution and Resolution in

Equal measure.

Skipping Willfully to Damnation

 

We cautioned ourselves not to fall

as we willfully skipped

downhill

as if to dare gravity, while

asking

for one more adventure

one more stollen moment

please.

Free to Love You

 

I wish I was free to love you

invited to lose myself in you.

I submitted with unconscious relish

only to be left

conquered

defenses slashed and burned,

falling into an empty guff

untethered

but shackled nonetheless.

The freedom to dream serving as both

punishment and respite. 

Next Life

 

In another reality, I loved you

deeply

passionately, scars and all.

Perchance we were Bonnie and Clyde,

some notorious couple bent on world domination.

Perhaps that’s why in this life,

we found each other too late.

Let us work on ourselves

learn our lessons

pay our karmic debts

so when reborn

we can find each other anew,

and damn our prior incarnations …

the cause of our continued punishment.

 

Mourning Masochists

Today, they are sad, in mourning

for all the things they'll never have the chance to do or share

morning tea on a cold fall day

snuggling till they fall asleep then waking gladly in each other's company

shared meals and conversations delving deeper

into their histories and scars

feeling irrevocably connected with each other and the universe.

They'll never go dancing

or feel snug in a shared sleeping bag.

The stars blinded at the light they shed

basked in the glory of their unencumbered stolen embraces.

Breakfast in bed

sci fi binging

They'll never share dreams or plans for a future

Lucky enough to have met

Unlucky in timing

They mourn what might have been

Another wound

a new psychic pieta to pick at

in the few stilled moments, they may find

to think of each other and what if's

trying to find a reason in the chaos of a universe

that showed them a door they could not walk through in this lifetime

Yet, perhaps, or never

while praying like an addict

for more stolen moments

knowing all the same

they will inevitably cause pain.

Goodish People

 

When asked if they are good people,

I simply say...

They are good people,

who do bad things,

to do the right thing,

for the wrong reasons.

Table for One

Serving their heart on a platter, they asked

       "Would you like salt with that?"

Serving their mind, shaken not stirred, they asked,

       "Would you like a bitter olive with that?"

Placing their body on the buffet, they gayly handed over the filet knives and assorted cutlery

and made room for a feast for one

as they hovered at attention

prepared to serve

watching the entitled wanton gluttony, enjoyed at invitation

while praying for release. 

Not all Dreams Float

 

A Satellite lost its way

submerging itself in dreams

distracted 

looking for patterns

in the Stars

trying to see through the Veil,

as Moon hid in its shadow, in shame,

Guilty of having briefly

Shown Brightly upon an Orbit it might've called Home

only to be awed by the Birth of another Universe.

And still it spins

flying now 

aimlessly through Space

in search of Gravity. 

Buying With Credit

When with wanton insanity,
you choose the weapon of undoing,
you can hardly regret when the trigger is pulled.
You have always been the author of your own demise.

The weight of regret is your karma. 
Nightly flagellation your obligation.

Your choices moving forward,
stop caring all together,
or continue to gamble
buying love on credit

while praying no further debts are incurred.  

Burdened With the Unsaid Once the Invitation Was Revoked

 
What is the point of words?
limitless and yet limiting

regardless of skilled tongue or language,
they will forever fail to truly convey
love, hurt, pain, disappointment or joy
as compared to how these things are experienced...
lived?

What is the point of words,
when ego, societal obligations
learned behaviors
tie the tongue
creating a damn against all left unsaid

leaving one to stew in the offal of their own mental juices

forever locked in on projected conversations and assumed intents?

What is the point of words
when once said can cause elation or pain
only to be shown meaningless when followed by action
or inaction?

What is the point of words
when left unsaid or said
can cause injury or unforeseen consequences?

What is the point?

when we speak with intent, with hope
when we strive to be understood
and continue to fail miserably?

What is the point of words,

when a kiss, a touch

can undo, remake and give birth to

an entire imagined future of improbabilities?

Best to Hush... say nothing, feel everything
purge and overcome the inner dialogue
as the mind is not your friend 

for left unattended
it will take every opportunity to create self flagellating words 

meant to undo your peace. 

Occupy your mind and your hands

as they are liars too.

Zaddy Gone

Daddy
Once I felt your presence everywhere
felt your eyes, your hand
the timber of your voice guiding me
protecting me
influencing me
filling my cup till I had no sense other than
a constant awareness of your presence.

You made a point of leaving your stamp
etched into my core with the sharpest of blades

Mercilessly

I felt your leave-taking
before you left.

Now
a universe stands between us
You, Odysseus on your next adventure
me, Penelope, marooned on a barren rock
told to go on
left senseless and adrift
anchor-less
desperately seeking purpose
without the psychic collar...

I didn't realize I needed. 

Bubbles Pop

Bubbles

ethereal, beautiful
seemingly perfect
suggest a grand design
offer visions of the divine, 
and unrealistic dreams of the improbable
don't live in them
They were never your "safe space"
for they are impervious to will, intent or desire
temporary purgatorial traps
that burst 
against the slightest hint of reality.

Some may see a challenge to overcome
a scientific mind confident in their ability to discover

a solution to the dream's intangibility;

Others may accept their transient nature, 

grateful for visions of possibilities,
or the respite of a dream savored however temporary;

While most will fold, crushed under the weight of dreams deferred 
their punishment, their karma for daring to believe...

to be haunted by the memory of contentment 

seemingly offered on colorful platters

unceremoniously and instantaneously removed..
by design.  

Forks in the Road

 

Meandering blindly though melancholy woods

They happened upon a path

showing alternate realities and futures

their present split into divergent stories

feeling the fabric begin to tare

they toyed with the threshold

before blinking, scared

both constant and indecisive

and turned. 

What "If's" Are Dangerous

 

When I permit myself

to wander into the lands of "What if"

I find myself looking over my shoulder

studying the life 

from which 

I 

am 

drifting. 

Jumping Can Be a Fool's Errand

They wished they were free to love you.

Invited to lose themselves in you

they submitted with unconscious relish,

only to be left

conquered

slashed and burned

defenseless and raw

falling into an empty guff

without a soul's peace or welcome. 

Painfully Unconditional

 

The light I offer

Will always be available

regardless of the lens

it shines through.

Someday, When it is Meant

 

Meet Now,

Met then

And Again

    (Do you remember when?)

Some day the stars will align

and we'll be well met

wanting the same things

at the same time

once and for all.

A prayer for when stars align

and the gods take pity. 

But not yet.

Not All Stars Are Wishes Meant For You

 

I let a dream go

as the star fell too late

and too far.

Wallflower

She bit her tongue till the

blood pooled in her cheeks

giving her the pale but rosy completion of a porcelain doll 

fit to burst

waiting for her string to be pulled

again. 

Deja You

Like a word trapped on the tip of a tongue

my every atom

vibrates

with forgotten knowledge of you.

Haunted.

Every note tastes like you

otherwise discordant.

A bell wrung

notes foreign and familiar equal in unfathomable measure

drive me mad with a sense of unreasonable familiarity.

the sorcery of past lives

What was when?

 And now is how...

am I supposed to choose?  

Insatiable Yet Understandable Greed

 

Mind what you wish for

when there's more room on your palate

than your plate. 

Sometimes I Need to Be Told

i imagine you saying

sit up straight

walk straight

keep your chin up

eat something

go to bed

let it go

sleep

As if i need that.... 

and i do...

but i'll balk all the same

at the imaginary dom

i continue to ignore.

And because that voice is not yours

i embrace the self neglect

familiar and safe.

Hidden Creases Deep Shadows

Imagine you're in a room so bright and white

you can't discern edges, walls nor the floor.

Now imaging you have a piece of paper in your hand

all crumpled up

It is still white and barely visible

but those subtle shadows you see in the creases

yeah, that's me.

that's always been me. 

Love Hurts

You became my air.

without you,

I find I've forgotten how to breathe.

I blame myself,

thinking it was my time to exhale. 

Silly me. 

I forgot