American Sentences

NYU shorts run by without a shirt; nice abs... she knows already.

Does she tan because of insecurities or does she like the sun?

Summer starts when I slather on sunscreen so my brown doesn't blacken

Nerdly Musing

Sitting in the crook of 

the library that smells

of dusty knowledge 

that has been cramped up 

in the pages of books 

incarcerated in their shelves

I wonder

what these books 

would whisper in my ear

Would they display the wealth of knowledge?

Or encourage a never-ending greed for more?

Or would spend my life 

reading about the lives within the pages

only to end up buried in 

a grave of dirt

as the books are

buried under a

the negligent duvet of dust?

What am I?

I am birthed young and fresh 

Smelling of squid’s smudge 

I stay white as cream leaking from udders

Until I tan in time’s sun 

and sleep under a blanket of dust 

Rumpelstiltskin First Descent

On a day when the sun
shone through the pixilations of mist
I watched you
hidden by
my own curiosity

You sniffed the dew dangling
off a four leaf clover
and licked the dirt off
an earthworm
with the flick of a forked tongue

Squatting with
thighs bulging,
you bounced up like a frog
itching to meet its
dinner midway
in the sky
you lifted your hind leg
like a dog wanting piss
molten yellow gold
your foot twitched twice
to the right
And then stomped loud enoguh
prompting

Thunder to yelp with fear,
A volcano to pee its crater,
And the earth to rumble,
All protesting your rude awakening

The ground cracked open-- a egg cracked jagged--

And you skipped into the
ravine of the unknown
yelling "I'm home"
to your second cousins... twice removed

I blinked three times
And stood to trip
home so I could help my mother
make lemon bars
with a salty crust

After Our Talk

I'll melt into the varnish of
the wooden staircase,
so when you sit there with her
you'll only smell me.

Café Ole

I only feel beautiful
in brown countries
where the

beating sun wakes the melanoma 

in our skin 

where sentences begin with exclamations hanging 

from toes that dig into the sand strewn 

with seashells made of plastic 

and oil that foreign barges 

travel into bays filled with 

bananas and coconuts

I only feel beautiful 

in brown countries 

where I 

have no ethnicity that raises

eyebrows in milky foreheads 

that crinkle when they cannot match their 

proper language to my 

walnut skin and 

where I blend in for once

in my life indistinguishable and a 

perfect fit in a landscape of slave histories 

I only feel beautiful

in brown countries 

where 

I no longer feel the need to

obsessively slather sunscreen in my skin

because I can't stand the thought 

of turning black 

For you

Yesterday I saw

A brown, leathered, woman

Stress dug craters a’top her brow

Her shoulders

Slumped towards the

Ground

A floor streaken

With miniscule molecules

Of shit dragged through

The subway car

Her child

Shrieked like a banshee

His baby teeth

And vocal chords

Nails upon a chalkboard

He clawed her face

And yanked her shirt down

To expose

A t-shirt bra

Absent of lace

Bought in one of those ghetto bodegas

For you to be that woman,

That is my curse

Metro Voodoo

Just use a pinch uh powdered 

concern an' a splash uf liquid worry, 

puff of stale subway wind will

Deafen all passengers ears 

To chilren' with cornrows and dem cavity-filled muths  

who's a hollerin' dem banshee shrieks

A shake of-- whatchu call dem? tablet's technology? 

Yup dat right 'der will smooth mammy's chocolate brow 

clear it of all dat shame & conscious of self she harvest in her heart 

Now chilren' 2/3 uf a dash uf empathy 

works wonderins for inspirin smiles

but honey be wary, if ya put even 3/4 uf a dash 

and dem smiles melt to smirks

you g'un get 'em speculatin' bout ourses ability to mother ours chilren' 

Dey gone think we done been knocked up 

Dey gone think all dem brown babes ain't wanted 

Dessert before Dinner

Lay back now,
on the table
set with pillows and duvets,
Let me undress you
from the baking cloak of your metallic sheath,
coo sweet nothings to calm me down
when I rush to devour

Let us forget forks,
run my hands down
the cracks of your body
where past loves scorched you to breakage;
But please trust me
to bite into your
molten chocolate center
where you shelter the fear of not being fully baked yet

Let me straddle
your sugar high
and nibble my lips in
my eagerness to feast on you

Just don't remind me of my mother's tears
for I ruined my appetite before dinner.

Feminist Porno

Maybe we'll meet at a rally for women's choice
or even at a dingy free humming
with teenage desperations (including mine) to be loved

Maybe I'll glide towards you emboldened
and empowered
or even you'll step on my toes and we'll crack heads giggling

Maybe I'll curl my fingers around yours and pull
you to a room filled with just us
or even we'll stumble to a corner itching
with other couples' sweaty fumbling fingers

But as clothes melt off
and lust unravels from its ball of compression
As we drink each other in
filling ourselves with expectations

Promise me that
as I pledge my body to yours in these next
few moments you wont hold me to the
standard of your illegally downloaded pornos

Masochism's Lacking

The book,
its spine loosened
and pages fluttering,
lies deserted and unclaimed.
It's blurb bragged
fantasy, every woman's dream
and they want it to be theirs.
They want consumption,
breathlessness, they want
to clench their thighs when the
man talks dirty, they want
their pants to parallel the woman's gasps
to tingle with glee at the threats of
spankings and ropes

But they only feel hollow
when the world's standard of sexy
draws hesitations and ponderings of
"Is this supposed to turn me on?"
they glance around to see if others
cringe at the promise of
plugs and whips and members
and yet the cannot find
the discomfort they search for.
And so they, with a sigh,
give up
trying to find their own pleasure until
they truly understand the role
submissive

Describe it to me

I cannot claim his love

I imagine that it tastes

like bleak mornings that blink crust from
tear ducts

like puffs of putrid breath as I breathe him in
without regret

The Trouble with Love Poems

Ballads, brewing
brimming with
Prolific declarations and vows,
Teeter over.

Eternal is
Sopped up by dirt.

Over Dramatic Ballad

My cruel one who has locked my heart away
Out of mind and sight but it hurts all the same.
You belong to her; how I wish you were mine.
It would hurt far less, but you're viciously kind.

My love you haunt me in my wishful dreams
Pining for your touch that bursts my heart's seams

I'm content, are I not, to step aside?
Role of home-wrecker, that, I cannot abide.
I leave my longing to flitter in my head;
Safe in imaginings, never struck dead.

Beckon me no longer do not tempt me to stray.
I cannot love a dream, yearning for hopeless change.

My cruel one who has locked my heart away
Out of mind and sight but it hurts all the same.
You belong to her, how I wish you were mine
It would hurt far less, but you're viciously kind.

Reflecting

Sometimes I worry:
That our eyes
Will only shine
Brighter than stars
When our phone screen
lights up

Unwritten Thoughts

Do you remember last night?

Do you remember the night of last

of last hugs 

and kisses 

and eye contact held far too long

Do you remember last night?

Do you remember the night of firsts 

of first denials 

and hopes 

and idealistic wishes 

Do you remember me last night? 

as I saw

your hand 

brush her calf 

graze her shoulder 

touch her waist 

I saw last night 

and I remember

Ramblings of a Run-on Sentence

At times

--

Do you just give up? 

Rumbling, bouncing, destructive thoughts of: 

Ijustcan'tmakeitIdon'tunderstandthepointofitallIfeelstupidandunabletocatchupandandand,

smushed together in your head like

grandma's famous mashed potatoes,

-- 

frail hands quivering as they hold the masher,

we wrinkle our noses at the bowl wondering, before scolds chide us, 

did she wash her hands after pulling up a sanitary pad that caught menstruation of old age;

she spared the time and labor and creaks of spent bones to make

grandma's famous mashed potatoes,

--

So you go back to Calculus. 

Hug me ole' wandering charmer

Oh my darlin' where'd you go?
Haunting hallways evermore
dreaming of better days soaked in summer rain.
Behind you swarm ghosts of girls
day dreams of you weaved into curls;
and I'll watch doe eyed ever pining for you.

How can you be so kindly cruel?
You must think us fools,
falling for charm.
One by one you strike us down--
our longing hearts could fill this town;
we'll wait for embracing arms.

O' Octavian

I want the vengeance
of Cleopatra-- her

sultry Egyptian walk
sweet-- dripping like ambrosia

clinging to the crevices of
her bosom-- tracing

allusions of her perfection

drawing men-- with cold consciouses
boys-- with fervent loins

to row frantically through
seas-- that spit storms and bring forth tears

just to suck the salty sweat--
beads beckoning from her pouting lips

only to find that serpents

slithered in and stole man's place--
coiled in the warmth of her breast

striking up the venom of envy
far fiercer than what her body--

mortal and fragile
quivering with blood--

promised to their hollow hearts.

Soporific

Dream back to the days of playgrounds and playdates

Can I remember the times when I drowned in torrential energy?

Bubbling, bumping, bouncing

Leaping, laughing, living

And oh so curious

What’s this? What’s that?

Tell me a story mama!

I’m tired.

Tired of all the expectations

Tired of listlessly chewing my nails thinking on and on

Grades, colleges, jobs

Tired of my own laziness, submitting to another night of television

Static on the screen, pixilation plaguing my brain

I’m tired of my falsetto laugh; I long for an eruption of laughter

Spurting from the belly to wake me

I ooze exhaustion from late nights, past the witching hour, boo!

AH!

What a surprise, more beer pong?

Ping! Pong. plop

Tired of flirting, tired of stressful texts, close my eyes to the “Oh. My. Gods"

Benadryl for my soul.

My lack of imagination lugs me to sleep

Why are my once animated friends now slumbering stuffed animals?

What happened to the brain that could play by itself for hours?

Tired of aging,

Tired of fearing in the back of my mind that as I settle into

My pillow

I will

Sleep

Through

My

Own

L

I

F

E

Sweets

I want to be the last girl
lingering in his mind
my promised appearance
gathering his friends
around the kitchen table
my sweet temptation
tingling in his belly
my sugar
making him salivate
he inhales deep
trying to grasp at the curls
of my scent
rising into the plaster ceiling
his memory of my
chocolate frosted love so
bewitching
that he forgets the aches
that I caused him
when he forget to save room for
dark leafy greens
I want to be his expectation
of warm chocolate cake
not the sticky
grease sopped
heavily regretted
empty platted conclusion

Journal #1

Journal #1
2/5/15

Childhood

We have let the stars collide
Waiting for each other we bided our time
We will hide as shadows seek
Running atop of our dismal concrete path
Scape open the sky let it bleed raindrops
Open wide drink our chaos all up now
Hush and you'll hear our city sigh
Welcome to aging life.