Bantu Migrations

Friday, August 28, 2009

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

Thursday, August 13, 2009

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

Saturday, August 8, 2009

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)