Poetry

Little Old Maid

Little old maid
In a tiny house
Made to fit her
And her alone
Because no one will love her

Little old maid
She could’ve given you everything
A shoe full of children
That she whipped and put to bed
Then set that whip on you…

Little old maid
She was sexy
Seductive
She relives the memory
Of your kiss on her neck
Of your fingers inside her

Little old maid
She remembers that last morning
Her heart shrank three sizes that day
She gave up on love
She gave up on it all
Never realized she deserved the world

She sits alone
In her tiny house that you built
Will she ever again open the door to her soul?

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Poetry

Ill

What ails you, sir?
Your pallor is suddenly ashen
Are you afraid that I might cure you?
That I might feed you passion?
That I might love you
And that you might be well?
Why seek out my remedy
Then set me aside?
Did you not realize that you wish to be ill?
‘Tis simpler… Isn’t it?

Poetry

Endangered

I am the rare bird
The white rhino
An oliphaunt

The mythical bitch of dreams

I am what you seek
Your ongoing quest
Within reach and real

Too real for reality

I am different
Not normal
Intriguing

You fear me
Despite being in awe of me

Back away slowly…

Am I not meant to be found?
Am I not meant to be had?
Am I merely a quest of proof
To be chartered on a page
Before it’s turned and forgotten?

Turn around
Walk away
Compartmentalize
Tuck me away as a moment
One that could’ve been forever

Who will love me
Before I meet extinction?
Who will love me
Before I choose conformity?
Who will love me for me
Before I become not so rare?

Poetry

The Stranger

Water ripples down the hot sidewalk
Sizzling in the summer heat
It reminds me of the sweat snaking your spine
As you looked into my eyes
Told me you loved me
The lightheadedness I feel from the sun
Is comparable to my climax in your arms
I must be sated
Where is the water?
Where are you?
Sun be damned
Damn you, too
I’ll sit under this tree
Befriend shade and shadow
When you’re done basking in the heat
Wearing a hat to hide your eyes
And the lies you told me
I’ll be here in the dark

I know what you look like
When the sun doesn’t make you sparkle

I know you

Poetry

Joker/Life Updates

Last we see each other
Was the last I saw your face

That night…
I both cherish and hate it
I had you again
Briefly
I lost you again
Just as quickly
Because you were never meant to be mine

I am your friend
Your silent lover
Your forever secret
I am the background
Watching and caring for you
While you live in the foreground
With someone else

She does not know
She never will know
You will not tell her

Finally, you have admitted love
It was all I needed
To realize I do not want it

You are comfortable
Content
Now I see, also cowardly
Craven

I was distraught
Devastated
Now I see, decadent
Deserving

Last we saw each other
Was the last I saw your face
You paint your face for the world
You pretend it is your real face
But, I know who you are
I’ve always seen you

Will she?
Will you?


I thank everyone who has continued to follow me through this last year where I’ve been nearly out of my mind. Not just my close friends, but the ones in my WP family who have become dear (I love you, Ruth!). This poem represents a couple days of epiphanies. I have always struggled to know my own self-worth, my own goodness. To know that I am deserving of proper treatment and respect. This weekend a man that I loved (and admittedly still love) finally told me, after 2.5 years that he loved me back. His girlfriend of now almost two years was standing about 5 feet away… It was the one thing I had wanted to hear from him. Over the course of the next couple days, though, I realized… that it was not the kind of love I wanted. He keeps me a secret from her because he’s afraid of losing her. He’s afraid of losing me, so he strings me along. He keeps me a secret from everyone. Even if he does truly love me, is that really the kind of love that I want? No. And I realize that I’ve subjected myself to this over and over again. I’ve loved men who have loved me back, but have been too scared of being with me, or too comfortable in relationships that they (obviously) didn’t want to be in to be with me. And I’ve been consistently left alone, while being told how awesome and amazing I am. While being friend zoned. While constantly being told I’m needed, but never feeling wanted. I’m finally done. I’m a few days shy of my 33rd birthday and I realize that I deserve to have people in my life that aren’t afraid to love me – not just men, but friends and family. I deserve people who love me unconditionally, accept me for who I am.

I have two engineering degrees – a rarity for a black woman. I was the first black and the youngest President of the Board of Directors of the Craven Arts Council and Gallery in New Bern, NC (look it up!). I made friends with the mayor there. I am the Commanding Officer of a Star Trek Club and a Starfleet International Captain. I’m in Star Trek fan films and have my own IMDb page (look it up!). There are people that love and care about me and I live a pretty cool life, even if some changes are needed. I’m pretty fucking awesome. I just needed an asshat to tell me he loved me to realize it… Now, I want nothing more to do with him, or any of them.

Love to you all!! I will work on being more frequent again. Challenge me, please, with prompts, etc.

Poetry

Solitaire

The solitary woman plays solitaire
On the weathered foldout table
She keeps where she can watch the sunset
Draw three?
Risky…
Draw one?
Safe…
Withered hands on automatic
Move the cards
Reset the deck
Over and over
To find that card, this card
A card she needs to move forward
Peripherally, she sees children laughing
Lovers kissing
People living
There is the man that used to love her
She drew one
Safe
He has found another woman
Another deck
She resets her deck again
Jokers with wide, acidic smiles
Spectators in this game
Gaze knowingly
Ha, ha, ha
The hilarity of it all hits her
The futility of it all breaks her
This is absurd
This joke has no punchline
Hysterical
She laughs until she cries
She has dealt herself a safe hand
An unwinnable hand
No time to reset
Ha, ha, ha
Fuck

Poetry

Cellophane

Mr. Cellophane walks alone
Passes through crowded streets unknown
Walked around and through
Collided with
But still unseen

He has a “wife”
He has “friends”
He has pretend things
A childhood game of make-believe
That took on an all-to-real adult persona
Faceless in the city streets

He is the painted clown
Sent in for your amusement
Is his expression real?
You wonder
But, don’t care

Mr. Cellophane
You look right through him

I am his mistress
His transparent follower
Pining after even his attention
If I paint my face, too
Would he want me?
If I get a little prettier
Could I be his baby?

If he does not see me
How could you even spare a thought for me?

Poetry

Asymmetry

Surrounded by greens and blues
An idyllic landscape
In a fantasized utopia
That is almost real
It brushes the soft tips of my fingers
Like a feather
Like a dream I just barely remember

Even near this paradise
A life-giving generous oasis
My mind looks into mirrors upon mirrors
The dark side reflected
The shadow that is my own face
Dissatisfaction creeps
My form
My figure
My function
My forced reality
My fearful asymmetry
Futile, it seems

When occupied
I am a goddess
I am purple personified
Elegant, regal, spectacular
Fascinating and fascinated
Then
For a quick, subtle moment
The mind is idle
Then, all at once focused and unfocused
Blurred memories, dreams, and speculations

The dammed tears
Threaten their damned barriers
Fueled by a past that cannot be helped
A future that is unknown
A present that cannot be embraced

Sleep
Awake
Social
Smile
Outside

The sun rises
I am smiling again
I have forgotten
For the moment
The things no one remembers
The things no one yet knows
I am happy
Briefly

Sunflowers bloom in the distance
I am black
I am yellow
I am wistful
I am hopeful
I exist
Therefore,
I am
And
I am not

Poetry

Black Garden

I don’t want it to be true
I don’t want to love you
I don’t want the memory of you
Beside me
On top of me
In me
I don’t want to remember
Your eyes as we gazed upon each other
In the afterglow
I don’t want to remember
your sweat mingled with mine
I don’t want to remember
That final kiss before you slept

Do you remember
The scent of my skin?

Do you remember
How you felt between my thighs?

Do you remember
Those special smiles
The ones that were just for you?

Do you remember
What I cannot forget?

Do I want to forget?
Indeed, I do.

My eyes are dull and gray
The roses that bloomed between my thighs
Have wilted and grown thorny
Entry not allowed in this dead garden
There is much pain beyond the gate
Passion is dead
What once was wet for you
Turns to ash on the tongue
My heart and legs are closed
They only drip with blood

Do I want to forget?
I grow weary of remembering
But, then I recall the scent of you
The feel of you
The smiles that were just for me
And I know I will not

Who will care for this black garden?
Who will nurture the dead?

Poetry

Swans at Crossroads

Here she is at the edge of the tunnel
A crossroads on a narrow path
Sun on asphalt
Eyes adjusting to the bright
She teases the wind with a finger
Now two
She can’t tell its direction
She is scared
A small step back
Into darkness
Into comfort
There she does not have to wonder at her shadow
At the future it foretells
There she does not have to wonder at her greatness
At what she could be
At what she already is
But won’t let anyone see
She could stay here…
She fears the light shed on her scars
Her idiosyncracies laid bare
There are cracks in her skin
A needle and thread in her heart
This quirky, patchwork woman may frighten you
She frightens me…
When reflected upon broken glass
Muddied puddles
But, she is glorious art
She has Mona Lisa’s subtle smile
Exudes the sexuality of Venus
Stepping out from her dank isolation
She sparkles in sunlight
She has little confidence
Feels inadequate
But knows she must change
Choose a path
Persevere
You will be mesmerized by her performance
Enthralled by her dance
See the black swan transform
No…
See the white swan embrace herself