if we should love. |an OJ ode|

if we should love.

let it be for the ages
even though time traps us into
a tiny space on the continuum
lets love like forever is our reality

if we should love.

Let us do it with a holding of hands
a smiling of smiles
and a lot of great sex

if we should love.

Let us yell it from the rooftops
letting the world see
what possibility looks like
when she grows her wings

if we should love.

Let us do it
never ceasing
never believing that
any other way is an option

if we should love.

let us hold the stars between our palms
praying we never forget

if we should love.

Let us do it every single moment
for as long as we can
what matters most is us

…and if we should love
Let us love against all evens
and know that revolution
is a matter of the heart

our world changes
with the sync
of our heart beat…
if we.
should love.

2.26.12 12:52p

This poem was inspired by Emeli Sande’s “Next To Me”


dear self esteem:

i’m choosing to set u at low today.
i don’t want to fake loving me

loving this skin
this acne

fuck beauty

i’m lonely
and makeup or fashion don’t keep me warm at night

i’m walking with my head down
…and writing in lowercase letters

from here on out i am:
avoiding eye contact
smiling on the inside
…and crying in the bathroom stall

fuck cute.

cute always has a clause.
-cute for a black girl
-cute to be so thick
-cute to be dark skin??
-cute for a chick w/natural hair
-cute for a poet… what does that mean?

i’m done loving me until further notice
cause loving me gets me nowhere but here… alone

watching every man with low self esteem finding every reason to see me
as less than or equal to nothing

i’ve pulled my self up by my bootstraps
so much that they’ve broken beneath me

beauty is evil
…and being clothed in spinster seems to be a joke i can’t shake

if i can’t fuck-cook-suck-swallow-pray-love my way into some random heart…
perhaps it not me

fuck u self esteem…



your doe

you’ve become familiar
with the with the spaces we’ve never occupied
at the same time

i’ve stopped screaming your name
from the depths of my memory
the terrors turned to tears
just linger softly
making your smile, your touch,
our history
an ancient fable that no one will believe

i know our love was pure

and there’s corner of heaven
with vinyl for your hands only

i always knew you’d come back to me
i didn’t know it’d be in spirit

i am forever your b-side
a fragmented sample
that air brushed the world
with the message
that love and dreams deferred
don’t make righteous
bed fellows

12.21.11 for j1


wassail [WAH-sul; wah-SAYL]

1. An expression of good wishes on a festive occasion, especially in drinking to someone.

2. An occasion on which such good wishes are expressed in drinking; a drinking bout; a carouse.

3. The liquor used for a wassail; especially, a beverage formerly much used in England at Christmas and other festivals, made of ale (or wine) flavored with spices, sugar, toast, roasted apples, etc.

4. Of or pertaining to wassail, or to a wassail; convivial; as, a wassail bowl.

-transitive verb
5. To drink to the health of; a toast.

-intransitive verb
6. To drink a wassail.

What happens
when a poet’s voice
Escapes existence
Where do the words go

Do we lay allterations
Shaped into lilies
On the grave

Do we burn the
Pages of poetry to
Send smoke signals
To the heavens

Poems capture life
Adding to us
Felines luck

risk & reward
Don’t see eye to eye

Death don’t look good
On poets

Somethin about it
Aint quite write

Trading wassail
For tears


Mother don’t see her amazing
Its written on my achilles

Painted on my bowed leg
And etched in the ridges of my chipped tooth

She don’t see what I see

Miracles grow from her nail beds
And flowers sprout from her laughing tears

She don’t see her amazing
But prays for it daily

Who but mother can barter dreams for dreams

I didn’t mean to outgrow u so quick…
Mother made it clear that mommies don’t exist

And mimi’s are for when u have amazings of your own

Mother is only holding your hand for so long

I’m your amazing. Your both/and

Don’t give me your cape.
I still need to believe in super heroes

And the ones on tv don’t make macaroni and cheese

I’m far from your perfection.