Navel

Born,
and not by the milk of your mother did you feed
Soft and slimy and baffling to the eucalyptus plant you have woken up on
Sipping from the sun,
The lichen on every solid rock,
The nitrogen in this atmosphere doesn't help you stay awake
Appendages stretch among the soil
Below the canvas of blue
Above the life beneath you
Do you have a navel ?
No
Not stripped from the only connection to your dear mother
Not starved from the fluids attaching you to life
You were placed here
On this eucalyptus plant
Wet and drenched in controversy
Debate
Debate
Debate
Adam, you have confused us

"Bill liked to pretend he was a prism. Like things could pass through and be beautiful."

Wooden Trees Wooden Eyes

Sly and consistent
Wooden eyes and marble hands
Glitter stained glances thrown at me
And I'm not afraid anymore
I am pure and honest,
and my ocean eyes stare at you
Minty breath
A kiss of conviction
Laughing at the trees
The wooden trees

The Blue Inside of Me

Will you stand next to me ?

What are you willing to do to feel the night ?

Will you slow your breath ?

Meet it with mine 

Let's make our hearts beat in unison

Let's board up the walls

Let's write checks to ourselves

Wake up with me,

and you are the blue inside of me

The blue that flies up and down the hallways of every finger tip

I'll work for you

I'll work for us 

We'll be blue and feel the night

Heart beats in unison 

Leathery

Purple like an eggplant 

and leathery with the scent of your perfume 

and sticky and thick

whining to be picked up from the ground 

pleading to be cracked and analyzed

put under a bright light

you should change

turn into something good

wake up without wanting to die

pour her morning tea and spray her scent among your apartment

open old books, dusty and thin

screaming to be picked off shelves.

You're Lucid

let's drop ourselves into palls of black and white
and let's confuse ourselves
talk of each others accomplishments

let's fucking lose ourselves within the wind of tomorrow
but wait
oh, wait.
you're lucid

you're not real

I'll Stand Kinda Pushed, Kinda Bent

Home work Home work Home Work Home Work Home Work Home Work Home Work Home Work

For History Class

The bolded words are those we had to define and use within a narrative.

I emailed my teacher asking her if i could write a poem, rather than a narrative, and this is what came of it !

1914

The French colonial rule

We were birds

We flew and watched the Italian colonies in Africa

And that is what we did until we died

But before we died, we lived 

All over the plains and cities

We watched it all

We followed that family of four

The decolonization of our souls became a trend

And soon enough 

Our hearts became a single party state 

No one else was permitted to create its beat

We were the only leaders

Our indirect rule was all we had left

Our decisions to fly

No one else

Posted on our branch 

Over looking the Volta River

The dam taking over every rocky shallow surface 

“Fly to the Gold Mines” 

Thats what our neighbors told us 

We refused 

We wanted to see what everything would become 

Francis Kwame Nkrumah built our home 

He lead every bird around

Every bird beside us

The Convention People’s Party followed his lead, too

Independence is what they wanted 

To watch is what we desired

So many leaders 

And they all made a difference to every bird in their uneven flight

Antonio Agostinho Neto

Fredrick Gordon Guggisberg

Robert Gabriel Mugabe

Nana Ageyman Prempeh I

Political flags posted on metal poles

Dug into the soil and was put in the sky

Replacing us

Stares at ZANU, ZAPU, and UANC

No one looks at us anymore

Not even Kipling 

He wont write about us

We’re just birds

We just flew

And watched

And that is what we did until we died 

Know

I let you know me
and you let me know you
and together we know what we allow each other to see
Which is us

I Did Not Die

Your Mark on My Skin

Your mark is on my skin
Sitting on my neck
Begging for a glance from you
Pushing the memory into your face and crawling into your mouth like the kiss you stained my sheets with
I am breaking
You wont fix me with your bloody knuckles
Mending your broken heart with her hands
Not mine
You didn't give me the chance
You're leaving me
With your mark on my skin

Spots to Hide Ourselves

Kicking our feet back
Sinking into reclining chairs
Every grandmothers living room is home to them
Vinyl and cotton and stained with thick syrupy laughs that end with coughs
A minty breath
That spits out locations
Spots to hid ourselves

Names

Her spirits climb through crooked trails
Lying beneath the soles of her feet
She searches and stutters her words
Watching herself
A projection of the two of them
Beneath train station lights
Egg plant - leathered wine kisses
No one told her how sweet she looks when she smiles
Repeating their names in their heads