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.