PAD – 4/6 ‘things not as they appear’

my quiet tone detours her
my written lyric fears her,
so she doesn’t know.
she doesn’t know that my
cerebral walls hold her
tiny multifaceted forms of communication
cleverly camouflaging themselves,
scarcely trying to find aim
thus my quiet doesn’t reach.
for her, there isn’t enough to escalate
more attempts to listen for
what hasn’t been said yet
or what she hasn’t given time to hear,
bet wisdom is suppose to be given
as if my vulnerability was meant to
be naively handed out without wait
clause and reason.
she isn’t listening really
she doesn’t even see me.


(Fortunately I had a full and great and thankful day 4/5. Unfortunately, I did not write. 2 days down.)

PAD 4/4 – departure

(slipped up on 3. 1 day down.)

soon it comes,
there is nothing more right now
to suspect or to
these feet always have some where to be
some place planned.

i close my eyes wondering
what will the night sounds say
how will they look at me,
and will i be able to hear clear their words.
the drums tell me already
get ready
get ready
for the closeness.


PAD – 4/2 / Secret …and Fear

simple secrets

they say “I can tell you but
then I’d have to…”
which I’d never do
which I couldn’t do
though sometimes my words
wish to find rhyme
to tell all,
ask and I would.


I’m attempting two 30/30 Nationally Poetry Month challenges. I admit there may be more than one poem each day. The above is the one I shared on writer’s digest PAD challenge. The other below was shared on the fb.

It’s a choice that must be made
Seen from all necessary perspectives,
A part of me is ready
A part of me isn’t.
I remember this feeling,
something like a fear.



*possibly mature advisory*

some times i feel over these rains
i want rhyme to tell time to come sit on my face,
shush, grown folks talking.

been walking the walk cradling a certain amount of
gentlewoman in my soul,
slipped up forgetting the moments when i owned my pace like
cock in my pants
or a romance that set sensations to wet,
called confidence.

act my age,
don’t have to act
this is my age and this is my page
and free will
called my ball point pen
or the spin i’m in, just

sick and tired of attempting mr. nice guy
fuck why,
there’s nothing coming to me simpler by being this passive way into words
when no one’s listening that intently.
so how about i play it QueenB
with bitches insteada niggas
the ultimate rush
hair pulled back and
a symphony playin’ my most intimates,
ass smackage
vibrating moans that cause trembling bones
i mean thighs
i mean legs wrapped for centuries around days intertwined between locs,
lay’em down all lined up in a row
you choose, either way, its all fun
it’ll be all said and done unless the safest words
are ever uttered.

i know many will be so afraid to read of such the
way to speak or be,
yet whosoever said the nice ones get all the glory…
not me, never been the story.

so i reach back – waaay back
wrist deep damn near elbows deep
back, into stanzas
rambled on and on while off centered
yet in balanced tangents
trusting my lyrics believing in my word,
this is my adulthood
fuck what you heard.
consider yourself handling the rock
the roll
and the stroll of this tongue
sprung from the flickers of
truths only kinda sorta aggressively muttered,


march’s hit

if this were my hand / would you take it /
or walk off in double thoughts not clearly here

does writing help /
or cause the pause to remain sitting
dancing within its own rhythm / seamlessly certain to split
in parts barely seen meaning to /
hand me off to another reason not to press forward /
this worth personified in confidence /
how are you afraid of what you’ve been asking for /

if this were my hand / would you take it /
passionate about the present and unclear of the future / living now /
come with me /

the darkened memories encompassing my whole being embraces why the Other created me /
existing here and feeling /
all the while the doors close one after the other and the only truth comes /
crashing lyrics and beats dancing hands free of you / of me
climbing into each others souls with wide eyes shut /
mine / metaphysically capable in all /
trust me / please / trust in me


if wondering and not needing to know means something

No comparison.  No need to compare I mean when what feels like forward thoughts, turn my insides out and make me wish….make me regret. Is it a karma type thing? Did I misunderstand the change that looks like all the other times of change?

Colorado…Denver exact, has caused me to not believe there is any one, or anything, I can trust here. People smile, gently and intently yet have no meaning within. I’m not talking finance nor materialistic shit, I’m talking Spirit, soul and heart. Others tell me I can find it, tell me I will find it yet I’ve been more open living in a space I know not a damn thing about than I have in any other space and I continuously get slapped in the face. Mocked and laughed at, but in a very kind or not so kind way. I reach and my hand is pushed away. I hand heart and it feels stomped on. I’ve been lied to, faked out, flaked on, and even chased down and damaged and it still remains to be my fault.

Well, is it the fault of moving here in general? Is it the fault of trusting someone I shouldn’t have trusted? To fault me for speaking a fucking truth and you know its true, why am I faulted because of speaking it? I use to be able to say, out side of work Colorado really meant nothing to me. Then work, then work happened all over my soul and I damn near forgot my true purpose there. I started to forget who I was. Not happy at my job draws the line. I can not be happy in a space for a long ass minute as long as I love my job. Love what I do, how I create, whom I love along the way (babies of course). A few co-teachers. Random ass people I meet in stores, on the corner and we shoot the shit and I never see them again. Those moments I have a tendency to try to hold on to like for dear life. Like those moments I see a cute as puppy, or cat, a happy baby…I cling to those cause. Cause reaching out, expressing care seems to cause some to think the opposite some hidden agenda. I don’t do hiding, I can do none of your damn business, but I dont have anything to hide. No reason to lie, and no reason to deny what my me stands for, for me. It is important mostly to my soul that I am true. My soul.

I have literally told someone that I needed someone to cry with, and was more than willing to provide a shoulder to lean as well. And still nothing. When I hear people ask, I listen.

I guess I was wrong about it all. Yet I don’t understand, I really have no fucking clue.