Tried to find my calling
In the midst of falling
Gathering pieces of creatives
Hoping to gain some footing
Ground slipping despite toe grips
Solid transforming to water
And I can’t swim
How do I ride these wavy terrains
Guess I continue using my fingertips
And create until foundations are built again
A lot of times, I spend time within four walls - alone. I pace back and forth. I contemplate about what I could’ve done better. I ruminate on old thoughts that still feel brand new. I look at videos that pique my interest. I listen to music that speaks to my soul. And once in a blue moon, I pick up a book and read some inspiration.
At the end of long days, I typically look forward to this time when I can shut the world off for a second and just hear me, enjoy my oddities in peace. I can eat whatever I want, drink if the mood strikes me, dance if the body sways and stay silent if the spirit moves me. I can talk to myself about my emotions and have a much needed therapy session. I can wrestle with the many times I felt less than. I can judge my every movement, analyze every morsel of my mind, beat myself to oblivion, break my own heart and create an unknown masterpiece from it all.
When I create a new piece of art whether literal or metaphorical, I know that my time alone is not in vain and the messy gray area that I reside in is meant for something, someone, somewhere and that’s the one thing that brings peace because then I know that I was never alone, it was us all along.
Temporary high I wanted to be
But he felt forced fed by my need.
High I wanted to be
But he felt forced fed by my need.
He said he was allergic to smoke
And he choked right at my feet.
Permanent high I wanted to be
But he did not feel fancy free.
High I wanted to be
But he did not feel fancy free.
He said he was clouded by smoke
And needed fresh air to breathe.
Alternate high I wanted to be
And he inhaled so sweetly.
High I wanted to be
And he inhaled so sweetly.
Until he said he smoked too much
And addiction was no good for me.
Does a poem have to be spoken
for people to stop and listen?
Perhaps I should change my focus
Create a new vision
But my art is not meant for precision
and my loudness is in the words
open for interpretation
scattered across the verbs
so the question remains
do I silence my silence
for the sake of exposure
or do I speak my speech
that will forever remain on the page?
go on
dig it up
that messy incomplete stuff
the fuck ups
the cover ups
the make ups that make up
the bruises and scar tissues
the deep rooted issues
go on
take a break to breathe
a time to plant a seed
to get rid of all the twisted weeds
to find out your hidden needs
to clear up any dis-ease
to breakdown the breakdowns
go on
be comfortable in the stains
that will surely remain
even when you find sane
allow peace to be insane
for life will never be plain
so enjoy the messes
the second guesses
the cursed cusses
allow truth to discuss
itself through you to you
and just be
be
i forgot how this life thing works
i’ve been too busy living for them
the ones that say you’re doing big things
when your face is plastered on papers
the ones that say you’re at the top
when your name is plastered to no. 1
the ones that say you’re accomplished
when your home is the biggest of them all
oh no wonder I’ve been in a constant fall
i was mentally set up to fail
having amnesia of who I am
gave credence for them to work me
but today, I sent my resignation papers
ready to go to my 24/7 job
where life can finally make a living
hat pull back
drop down cadillac
rims bling out
listen scream shout
crouch down more
down to floor
shots ring loud
dark gray cloud
sun wears dark
dogs do bark
child go cry
body there lie
loved die one
three words done
i had a love affair
with words before
but they failed to
touch me
the silent page
could not keep me warm
on the cold windy
mid-nights
emotions were sparked
the intrinsic body
of work was spoken
with each syllable
however, the heartbeat
that was desperately
trying to find its rhythm
could not syncopate
a full blooded gentleman
could never be formed
despite my imagination’s
pleas, even with a please
Water seems nice over there
The beach seems cleaner
The sand seems simple
The walks seem longer
Palm trees seem friendlier over there
The leaves seem welcoming
The roots seem fleeting
The climb seems taller
The air seems lighter over there
The winds seem to play
The molecules seem to dance
The energy seems to pulse
To a certain free falling
rhythm
That continuously go from loud to quiet
in a nanosecond
Dreams seem to wander over there
The people seem famous
Everyone wants attention
Everyone wants love
Like everywhere else except there
The desperation is more honest
Even behind its flaky facades
Yet I dream to go there
Just to go there
Perhaps from way over here
I’ll go there
Swim in the waters
Dance on the palms
Sip the breezes
So I can be free falling
Finally
Free
Falling
oops
you saw a mess
in the corner
i meant to clean that up
just for you
pristine presentation
is what i wanted to show you
now
i cannot mask the dirt
i am not ocd with my emotions
just protective of its looks
appearances appeal to the senses
at least that's what I’ve heard
minimalism was the idea of my design
interior decorator that was I
I wanted to share the best of my light
so please forgive me
for that smudge
next time,
it will not be there
according to
my blood
I am
Bajan
Cherokee
Jamaican
British
Portuguese
Irish
English
African
but in America,
I’m Black
And that works for me.
