Day 19

It is hard to reclaim something
you never knew you were losing at the time

I made a vow to never press my lips
against things that hadn't proven themselves
worthy of my touch,
drenched themselves in beauty first

I believe more in the things you haven't said
than the things you did,

The beauty of your silence is what got me.
I fell for the nothing in you,
only to now wonder
if I fell for nothing in you.
I fell
for nothing.

I do not actually have any reasons
to care about you,
but have been trying to reclaim
my firsts that you,
unworthy as you are,
get to hold as trophies
or centerpieces.

But you wont
they are not important to you,
you do not know their value,
I wont ever have enough courage
or self pity
to actually tell you.

They will probably end up somewhere
in the back of a closet in your room,
the one in your hometown
that you spend the least amount of time in,
collecting dust

Passing up the opportunity to be of use
even as a hand me down lesson
to someone younger than you.

And you won't even know they're there.

Meanwhile I've lost something,
quite a bit of faith in myself,
in my fearlessness

Confusing the fact that
silence will always be held by truth
With
silence will always be the truth

As a man,
learn to be more careful about the things you do
And the things you don't say
Because this is not a test drive
or
a thrift store exchange of
ancient things you can borrow
and get rid of

You know more than
you act like you do
And as a man,
hiding behind the guise of a boy,
your knowledge will find its way
to seep through the claim of ignorance
you put on certain things you do
And its stench will catch you like
haunting guilt,
something that no one will ever
be able to smell
as clearly as you do.

However odd, untimely, or frivolous
you may interpret my actions to be
I am not something ancient to be
borrowed
when you're fascinated
and exchanged
when it stops being convenient to think its pretty
To stop thinking is worth the trouble
when it starts being convenient to

If you didn't want it
You should have said so,
it would have saved the both of us
a great deal
of trouble

Day 18

There are orchids blooming
in your ears
If I could be the voice of reason
in your thoughts
The sounds of femininity
in your ear drums
The whisper of creation
in your spirit
I would feel a lot less
like a woman with unfinished business

Weeping willows disguise the rustling
of their long and soft work
in your snoring

Laying still you move like you are
waiting for something to send you
looking for something;
Laying motionless you
move like it isn't me.

There is baby's breath tangling istelf
in the width of you dead, sleeping eyes

And underneath my ear I can feel
an Adam's apple fall
and perish in the earth
to bloom a budding tree

But your voice does it no justice
and barely follows through
to let me climb
the branches leading to your mind.

I have a lot more faith in the things you do not say

It's all here,
The fruitfulness of Eden
is ressurecting in you
And you wake,
only to tell me
that you don't believe in reincarnation

Day 17

We keep writing poems about you
Knowing that if you are actually there
you wont need them.

Three Women, stubborn girls,
holding the threads of who you are,
your puppet strings.

Motions, day dreams move your heart...
those eyes of yours
But we can never find it in us to make you speak
It would look too forced,
it may be too much of what we have wanted to hear
for too long

My youngest sister
she tapes every manifestation of
the distance between you and her
to her eyelashes,
every falling follicle
struggling to hold on
is an ode to you,
the innocence in your eyes

Our eldest, she gives you hands.
Pretends that you know how to love already,
and is careful about everything she touches
the way we dreamed you would be.

And I
am dancing
in the ballroom of your heart,
liquored up
no music on
eyes closed
spinning in circles
like i was never taught
how to move over black and white tile
the right way

And I
am careful to make sure
that no one knows I am here
the way they do;
We don't keep secrets from each other
or handle love obnoxiously;

Understanding,
in the hand work,
in the sweeping steps,
in the taped on innocence,
that with out us
there would be no you
That without you
there very well
may be no us.

If ya don't know...

so,
im... posting/ posted the most recent(Day it doesn't matter)
and am posting old pieces from when i stopped.


........Now you know.

Back.

Day something pretending to be Day 16 (rewinding)

Sex on a plane

People think I’m weird
At this point, ask me if I
give a flying fuck

15th stil rewinding the clock.. aka timetravellin.

18295 Fairhaven Dr.

This
is
for..us
For HOC
For roaches
and,
I swear they were there
before we moved there
For
I was born this shade of black
and
dark colored pride
For culture cannot be
killed
just hidden
For
I know you were here
before we moved here
but
my eyes
make this block look like a village
and I cant get over the
nostalgia
of it all

For us,
because
when the forgotten
are forgetful
there are no
locks to pull on to
reveal hidden stories
anymore

For us,
easily
in between

Our
cannot be here
along with the
holier
parts of our
selves

for,
I like silence
because I am artistic
I was born this way

I am artistic
because I like silence
I was bred this way

I like silence because
I was never heard
I was loved this way

I wasn’t allowed
to play with kids
that never listened
I did it anyway

they never listened
my face spoke too loudly
of before
they told me
they hated it
I never listen anymore

I like silence
Because I like silence
Bred this way
because I was born
this way
I will love this way,
way loudly,
because I have yet to be heard

For the forgetful ones
fearful that if they speak
they may learn that their voices
are louder than they could ever imagine
and that have spent all this time
in silence
For nothing.

(18295 fairhaven drive)
I still don’t speak
about
such things

Day 14.but not really, still rewinding.

There is nothing
As unnerving
as the sight
of an unsure woman
So my mother has taught me
to be utterly intimidating
mirrors and all
I shriek
at any sign of the uncomfortable
and uneasy
I make it easy

Utterly intimidating
I am scared of myself sometimes
What I can do
What I cant
What I have

My mother has taught me
I can do anything
I have taught myself
Anything
I cant, I have already

Mirrors and all
I make it easy to be
utterly intimidating

I have a hard time
looking
at myself
most of the time
thinking about
the
things I cant do
More scared of the things I can
and not daring to
question enough in my eyes
the things
that I have,
There is nothing
as unnerving
as the sight of an unsure woman

Rewind

Day 13, but actually 12.
love to a certain boy
with a certain eulogy that
certainly/accidently
inspired this one

My first
is happening,
now.

Thick throated,
dry eyed,
barely..
almost.

The first time
I will ever proclaim
death by choice,
is
now.

And it
probably wont last
i
have pegged
living poems
on the foreheads of
those six feet under,
dirt from
daily prayers
And now I am
writing a eulogy
for a boy
that is still living
me and the world
tend to disagree that way

A eulogy
for a not so dead
possibly
dying
dying to me here today
while I let the dead live

a eulogy
for a boy living
in places and whereabouts
in livelihoods
that wont let him allow me
to learn how much of that is true
me and the world
tend to disagree that way

Plainly,
to you
I will
say
for myself
that
it
sits..
like this:

Fear makes you a lock box
Self righteous love makes me a lock smith of sorts
But fear makes locks
hard to pick
Distance makes some of this irrelevant
and
Love
self-righteous and all
makes for a big heart
that doesn’t know how to hurt
even for its own causes
So
Fear makes all of this
convenient

(…………….)
they say that
poets sometimes
overreact about
things
or
maybe we
see the world some type of way.
I was looking to fall with someone
I fell on my face
in a puddle
the reflection
was beautiful
someone came to pick me up
and it wasn’t you
by this time
I didnt want it to be
At this point I am accepting you
as a dwindling dream
a foreshadow
or
a flashback
at this point I don’t know
and that has never seemed to matter
as much as it does now
as much as I am trying to get you not to..
Honesty
isn’t pushing me through many places at this point
cuz
the fact is Im stuck
I have been an idealist for so long
I have never met anyone as willing
to keep themselves from
being heartbroken by the love life has to offer
this is not our time
not cuz its not
because
you have decided that it shall be
such
I wonder what would have happened
if I had never spoke my mind or situation
how different things would be
maybe
it would be easier to demonize you
a boy
with his own eulogy
I don’t kill living things
but this has become a matter of
self survival
I don’t know
how to fall in love
with Things
from
other
realities
the right
way
without falling out of this one

I’m sorry

The knot in my throat
is telling me
to take a crack at my
first time of killing anything
and this is only the beginning
they say death comes in threes.
I’m bringing
a partner with me…………….

Day...it doesn't matter

it may not be finished,
but then again neither are we.
Sisters,
God borrowed one
and gave me seven.

We
keep writing poems about you
and the ways that you exist.
I loved you once,
as a reflection.

The most unrecognizable things about you
feel like home
Finding myself
is
getting lost
in foreign places.

Tiptoeing over a bed of nails
is soft
And flowers sting.
It is possible for beautiful things to hurt you.
But I am fearless,
even of trembling
and backing out,
call it inconsistent.

There is a trail to you
and I have paved it
with the ashes of women
who have tricked you
into thinking they were dead before,

that are called crazy
for teetering the way we do,
so fast we call it balance,
and you call it inconsistent

Try to curse us
with the voice we gave you
and we will tell you
"continue to speak for yourself"

I am you,
proven.

Its hard to run away from yourself,
the most complex part about it is
its simple
The sum
rises and falls with you

I saw the sun rise today
Inconsistent

Seven shades of beautiful
All the same
Never standing still
Always motionless

Stretching far past where she thinks herself into
Always wearing the same face
Never changing who she is

Wouldn’t recognize herself if you told her to
She is still questioning if she wants to
Or Why she should listen to you
Or why you are asking her to
as If you are not speaking to yourself

Standing upright
Chest out
Heart exposed
Livelihood fruitful
and growing,
Building like
viney roses,
My the petals on your eyes
and the stems holding a mirror to them

You reflect as a blind woman

With two voices,
with seven,
with one.

Always speaking to yourself
even when you don’t know you do,
even when you don’t mean to
**“...God ain't make no mistake when he put
a woman into your life”

The sun rose today
pretending she didn’t feel the extent of her rays,
And its glowing…
emitting fruitfulness on earth that is her

Looks at herself with an awe that turns into
forgetfulness.
Even mistakes herself
for a man some days
and then pretends she isn’t one.

The son rose today,
and unsurprisingly,
she is calling herself
a woman.
---------------------------
**aja..sigh.gasp.love
that is a-whole-nother
poem
both literally and (ever way it can be) figuratively
myspace.com/madamemonet

Until...Before

As of now,

I will not be posting anymore of my 30/30 poems directly to my blog. There is a degree of externalism that goes into such things, even as i am writing now, and the place that I am at in my life and poetry cannot coincide with that wholeheartedly. I hope to be able to stay honest with myself to maintain an honesty that will allow me to be in the places I am within when writing and not think about people reading my work, i hope to maintain an honesty that will allow me to be vulnerable enough to post everything i write.Operating on any such fear that i may not be able to is faithlessness, and i have done enough of that already. To the many anyones out there, the people in my head the figments of my imagination that cause a degree of questionable sincerity through forcing me to be external even now, if you know me, know yourself, you'll wait......like i will........somewhere thats so easily found it looks hidden

until...before

love.word

Day 11

America

You’re eyes are open
But there is no question that,
You dear, are asleep.

(I Taylor J.I Taylor J.I Taylor J.I Taylor J.I Taylor J.Yatzee!Piepops)

Day 10

Paper, Pen.

Late night

a head full of hurt

and confusion.

I started writing a poem

about my sexual orientation

and then it dawned on me,

that there is no way to write about

something you don't understand,

especially if you are scared to.

So I ended up

Paper, Pen.

Late night

more like,

early morning

a head full of hurt

and confusion.

Wishing i could draw a picture

in the boxes I was given

instead of having to check one of them,

be given a couple hours to

give a lecture on

love,

society,

and sexuality

that wouldn't have to be broadcast back to my ears first

before i believed in its earnest...,

or damn..

at least

be able

to write a poem

Day 9

1.
There is a bus stop bench
that used to be
Part of the largest tree
in a forest

It
does not think about
the benefits of its past life,
it just waits to be useful in this one

The pain of remembering
a past life in this one
Would splinter stillness
If realizations of purpose
Were not fast forward glimpses
into the quilts of Eternity

2.
A man waits
for a bus that is late
He used to ride ones
on streets paved with
faces like his

Unlike most Nigerian men
his past is more his present
than indicative of it
He has been soft before the battering
And being the cushion himself
there was no thud from
falling from grace

A woman with a face stoned
into the pavement of his country approaches
looking like she knows how to tell a story

3.
As he never guesses wrong
Their paths have crossed
They have had the same gravel under their feet
Explaining why they look similar:
From falling face first,
him softer than her

The dangling remembrance
of what it means to be from earth,
mixed with what it means to be
hard as a rock
Shake from her face with every laugh
that stealing glimpses from
the underside of eternity's quilt
bring

Being a cushion himself
it is easy to see the blanketing comfort
of the past in this man
and feel obligated to it

Strength sits in her,
of the essence of earth,
the resilience of stone,
importance of thread,
and its frailty
It is anxious always
for a chance to be of use
...So is she

They talk about how
in the 80s
there were only 3 things
in their city
almost as famous as
a Nigerian Micheal Jackson,
King Sunny Ade,
and Nollywood films

"Everything was such and such,
this film broke my heart,
our government has always been...
Our people never were...
If it happens again,
I wont be a part of..."

Not from arrogance
but amusement
and humility
She omits any knowledge connecting
her to certain things,
most importantly
her name

Musters up the opportunity for
leave and vitality
in the form of an arriving bus,
Then
introduces herself as the third
and most famous thing,
and a mouth flies open
to let out a
"My, you've... aged"

A bench
and a woman
look at a bus stop,
smiling

Half trying to keep from crying
Half remembering past lives
and new purpose

The pain of remembering a past life,
in this one,
would splinter stillness
without this realization
as a forward glimpse
into eternity



......My mother, was the crown jewel of our city,..........once

Day 8

1.
Fate is an opiate
Aiding us into remission from others
There is no conflict in such knowledge
Just understanding of order

2.

Would is a word of
arrogance and paranoia
That reclaims a Godliness
We relinquished a long time ago

3.

If there were no cars,
no roads,
no hate,
no syringes,
no diseases,
no hospitals
I would still be arrogant enough
to think there was something
I could do about your death(s)
I would still be wondering if
living through is me permanent markering
Blacking
your future and looking for reflections
in its darkness
But I don't get to wonder the way I would want to
and that will never be okay

Day 7

Two Different Too Different

Love is a four letter word,

so is Like and..

thanks to these Two

there are now Four I hate

(okay okay okay, Hate is strong how is ANNOYthe

Muthaflaabaudgabada Hell outta me

at this PARTICULAR moment in time?)

Love:

You, you play it like a selfish tune

pretending that it has nothing to do

with the people watching you

And all it does

is make it seem like

everything sincere about you ...

is False

Like:

Confidence is a hat for you

You could wear it backwards

or even take it off

No one would know the difference

Hi again Pantoum,

So,

relationships are so short lived for me

they barely ever happen.

I'm a love em and leave em,

keep it moving but

dont keep em type.

I'll holla at you soon

(don't wait by the phone)

Day 6

Safiyah

(is one of those topics you don't dare want to ever stop writing about)

Spirits on that skin of hers

Body is not brought nor carried, more glided through, guided to

Baited by her laugh, memorized into many,

Something about love smeared on her hands

Body is not brought nor carried, more glided through, guided to

Nothing as sacred could be optional. Sincerely,

something about love smeared on her hands

The gem of a would be girl exists in darkness

Nothing as scared could be optional, sincerely.

Baited by her laugh, memorized into many

The gem of a would be girl exists, in Darkness

Spirits on that skin of hers

Day 5 (our first date turned out to be imperfect as it were... get over it.. you know you liked it)

Jock.(Jacques)

Arrogantly indescribably hue ignorant to your type of beautiful,

Redemption is audacious when walking as a failing man

If ever there were a reason to doubtingly know feeling,

In Quiet.loud abrasive and hidden

Redemption is audacious. When walking as a failing man,

fondling forges forests that refuse to be lost in landscapes

If ever there were reason to doubtingly know feeling

Acquiescence, in prolificness, is the lushness of a self story

Fondling forges forests that refuse to be lost in landscapes

If ever there were reason to doubtingly know feeling,

acquiescence in prolificness, the lushness of a self story

Looking to realize mistakes hiding as reconnects to a reclaimer's future

Dear Pantoum.

Hi,

so... ummm....

I know you have a lot of hoes... that you like.. like alot and maybe even one that you are thinking about making your girlfriend/ permanent boothang(F***thatB*** Saf! i only used her to get closer to you anyways). but um.. i was just wondering i mean just thinking that maybe if we like spent sometime together you might get to know me and like me. Possibly ... like.. um .. i could come over to your place.. iounno maybe make you some dinner ... you like pasta?

and um yea.. iounno or iounno we could go to a poetry spot or sumthin..(i heard they havent been seeing yo face in those lately).. um butchea i aint desperate or nuthin just tryna make destiny happen fate has been a lil lazy lately feel muh..

so umm.. but .. umm

uhh yea. so like and then

yea maybe then you could like me?

and then maybe SHOW you like me

so i know....

word.

like it was just a suggestion

like im not pressed or anything..?

so.um

yea...

when can i come over?

friday.

i mean i.. i have like all these fresh groceries with me and stuff i could. i mean.. im not busy.

okay ..Im coming over..

NOW

...

bye