It scares me how much I am understanding this poem more and more.
I've been got it deeply, and relating....but today...too much, too much.

Damn

Yes.

Shet

Holy God.

Thats that type loving I'm talking about.

Blessings

Today me and the love in my life.

Bought underwear together.

specifically little boys boxer briefs

I'm serious.

I love Taylor Johnson...

yes, its so blog worthy.

Yesterday

I almost forgot your birthday.

like the 10pm type"almost"

Yea. they got me like that...

R.I.P to the only man that I have loved

that has never disappointed me.

Mohammad Yussuff turned 19.

findlings and tings, random old files.

broken women make bad decisions and

bad decisions break broken women

so broken women keep breaking broken things

Yesterday

I decided that our first daughter's name would have been Imani

meaning faith,

or some variation thereof

I called your bluff

I always knew you would break

under the weight of how hard I love.

Look how you cracked

freewrite

Patriarchy seems to be where are the issues in my problems are leveled.

men, God, Love. (Since God is supposedly male , everytime I am talking bout God is interchangeable with a man/men in my life and vice versa)

freewrite from todays training sess

About the Men

Pre-existence-

They told me that you would make trgedies out of all my hope and rigid perseverance

I do not listen. They told me you were male. I saw me in you. I will always be confused about where I fit on the gender spectrum

Age 12- between now and the last time

You have exposed me to a lot of ugly.

Before I was six I knew about sex

and wont know why until im 15

in the newest old neighborhood

you lifted up my shirt

to expose what was under there

as if to say

I am in fact a woman

I saw you try to cut my mother’s throat

You are leaving now taking everything with you

except the disconcerting assurance that you will be back

Age 18- it was either all you

or you and him between us

but God,

if that’s what they still call you.

You sulked and soaked into the thing that is ‘us’

I wanted to trust you again.

I always get what I want

in the worst way

Age 20- stranded, I wonder if you listen anymore.

the questions I have for you all come out like curses

25- you are no where to be found

30- I start thinking about not looking anymore

35- every laugh is a sacrifice of my heart. I smile to not hurt anymore

it breaks me

40- I stop reading. I do not speak, do not cry. Forgot how to pray

45- my feet are pretty now

from all the walking I refuse to do

there’s a certain beauty that comes when all the hope is drained out of you

50- I wouldn’t recognize you if I saw you,

I am too pretty now

20- I’m still writing silly poems like somehow they can make this less true.

Dear God

Today I hate how ugly you made me.

Sperectomy: the draining-out of hope.

midnight's children

In Response(s)

I do not co-author tragedies.

Dear God,
May I never fall in love again
Amen



I don't ever want to know how to stop waiting

Anniversary freewrite

I told myself that there would be no such writing because it smelled too much like wallowing..here it is anyway seeping out of me like drained hope. I had to write it down in two minutes and pretend to get it out.. for my so-called sanity

there is no ceremony

there are no candles

there is no talk of love today

the way there was a year a go

when I unfolded the love letters knotted up in my throat and

gave them to you in a sentence.

I wonder how it became this way

the turn table of my thought telling

a truth with no expected reciprocity

met their gilded joy at the dawn of a morning much like this

when I was scared and full of love for you

busying myself

there is no phone call today

and similarly enough

I am learning to cope somehow, again

with the idea of getting no reciprocity for my divulgences

oh faith,

oh risk,

oh gilded heart

I wonder where and in what I should place thee

I learned love a year ago

and now

I am trying to teach myself how to let it go

On Black Masculinity...

"There is a resistance to rethinking masculinity that is embedded not only within the psyche and lived experience of Black men alone but within women as well. Bell hooks writes: 'Heterosexual women have not unlearned a heterosexist-based 'eroticism' that constructs desire in such a way that many of us can only respond erotically to male behavior that has already been coded as masculine within the sexist framework' (1994a,111). So even a heterosexual man who engages in a sensitive awareness of feminist issues, and in humanistic caring alternative performances of Black masculinity, is demonized for not being a strong, take-charge kind of guy."- bryant keith alexander

OMFG!!

BONG! WTF this is way too relevant to my life and how the world/society has totally fucked the shit out of it..

I WILL definitely be reflecting/ranting on this later.

shet!

but for now..

back to work

The most beautiful love poems are written by people who are not in love at the time.

The real thing has a way of ruining the dream.

your mouth is an overflowing hearth

from which a million rivers grow

a place of proliferation

that once set many things ablaze

Your name was like a song out my mouth

a prayer of sorts

I miss my God.

Black Masculinity in America

I have been on a binge/ used my classes as an excuse within the past couple days to delve deep into understanding the institutions tropes etc. That make the men I love the way they are...difficult to love often. I jokingly say it is me "getting to know the enemy," the fact is I am almost half serious. That half of the ankh for me and many black women my age has indeed been a source of a lot of anguish, pain, growth, torture, surprise, hope, disappointment. Our fathers, brothers (bloodline and otherwise), and the men we take as companion often bring back around the notion that the ankh is still in desperate need of healing.

Here is a movie I am watching (supposedly) for a paper I am writing:

I am A Man: Black Masculinity in America