Friday, February 13, 2009

for the friend who is too humble.

I want to write poems that stick
Fuse so hard to your surface that your fingers bleed
At the prying of lyric
Off your melanin
She is colored with words

Someone told her making love was for the innocent
So she stopped trying to piece together the ingredients
Thrusts hard for her sin
Knows that if she can’t dig deep enough into her soul
Maybe a “he” can find it within

She prays to the lust gods
Spewing white particles
Like she was whispering to dandelions
If only the imagery were that beautiful

We wear flower names
While she prays, on her knees, “forget-me-not”
Eve’s garden is trampled
With imprints from the tongues that rolled Jezebel
But even Jezebel was a queen

Jezebel danced with the wolves like she with frat boys
Took her sons throne like she aborts her own
And was fed to the dogs like she to the masses

yet still you are royalty

brown skin and regal

refined like grains of sand

and soft as the earth between toes

we are more than the color of grime and dirt

and ignorance that laughs

when there is no joke

this has got to stick...
so that goddesses won't
hold their head down in shame
momma said keep your skirt down
but what happens when you are naked?
bare for all the world to see
and penetrate.....
your soul.


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