Tile High

Ever felt like you were standing on the proverbial “mountain top?”
I have…

Felt like I had it all or was on my way to getting it.
Bittersweet notes played in the wind, whenever I entered the room I felt the losing minds hate because all I did was win.
That was the motivational call and I was answering it.
Semi-deep people are less entertaining than shallow minds, grinning in the marsh pits talking shit, on borrowed time.
Bittersweet melodies play out the loudspeakers, whenever I grace the stage I felt people lose their minds because all I did was rim.

Aren’t you, overdue for some full fled… f…. intercourse off the course of these regular minds, mind track.
Adapt or dismount, life offers no trials just error and it is the be it all discount.
Attack opportunity with gracious tact.
All I ever wanted was to be cleverly mounted on that mother fu….. obscenity deleted, mountaintop.
Free of humanity and the presentation of humanity’s slop.
Cropping people out of my life and Photoshopping new ones into it, template locked.
I owed you nothing less than cops killing young boys and nothing more than racial dimensions.
Peak was never obtainable because after the journey up, I’ll journey back down, less I die up there with no change.
I’ve got no place where the oxygen thins and there are lifeless things… there is no change up there.

Baggage

What makes my baggage any less than the next, man?
I’m curious like who started the culture of maid of honor and, the best man.
I always thought of myself as the, best man.
But it so appears that my most sacred fears have coined me as a, less man.
Yes man, and no matter how fresh I think my freshness can…

I can’t change that I came with this kid,
Or that this baby mama drama collectively is a package deal.
Hate is stuck to the ribs when family can’t love your love the way you love and seal.
The contradiction to concealer is all the tears it reveals,
Streaks down her soul when I know I need her.
Breaking down her soul like hands laid from a preacher.

Can’t absolve and enumerate my past life, there is no exclusion from the past life so fuck the illusion.
My only savior of adjustment worth the savour is the fast life and all its accelerated flavors; conclusion.

The Miss

How do we miss each other so much?
I don’t mean like longing to see your significant other or a crush.
I mean, like passing our perspectives of each other right by, like a brush.
And close is never enough like enough can always use more.

I need more of you after you’re my wife and we’re already married type shit.
Heavy conversations like which God should we believe in after we’ve spent the beginning of this asking Jesus to forgive our sins type shit.
We grow, in the same household but sooooo differently type shit.
Like twins in segregation.
I miss your every move, your every mood misjudged, your steps over anticipated, your promises under anticipated, your kindness under appreciated, your embraces disassociated and this is all so lovely to the audience but to us it’s so damn complicated.

We the type that get the likes on Facebook but get the hate at home.
I’m the type to tell you all of this in a poem but can’t find the verbs to fuck nouns into making my mouth describe this accurately with adjectives.
That type of shit…

But how do wet become closer, magnets?
How do we kiss deeper, lips, tongues, baguettes?
How do we listen harder, death metal?
How do we hold hands longer, Timex?
How do we love more?

No examples is the true example, no one’s perfect is the grail to hail, relationship preamble, elderly couples are just a sample. 63 years in the mix and can’t remember if she prefers omelets over scrambled.

So the pieces we miss, we fill in like cavity fillings, it’s not a flush fit but at least hope gets to sit in.
Next to fluoride and missing you isn’t the same as it used to be… you expect me to hold you before you slip by and love you like you weren’t mines. Then remember things like are mines like you hate putting gas in the car.
I hate putting gas in this car too!
This one that drives hope, because I take us no where blaring the music like we’re going somewhere.

With the sincerest expectations we arrive at 334 Promise Street
Proclaiming that we’ll never bypass each other the way we used to as we weep.

Entry 1

How the fuck do I see you for you when all I’ve been taught about subliminal and direct is that your ass is 50 and your face is 30… percentages of respect.
Obviously you’ve been attending the same class because you’ve tummy tucked, face lifted, ass implanted and then decided to seek respect.
I thought it started with self???

Esteem (slot unchecked)

I’m not making it any easier am I?
When I compare you to them;
All the ones that frequent these procedures for a piece if any of social accep…. -tance.
Same goes for your perspective of me right?

I’m not a baller or a rapper so I’m definitely a trapper right?
Never mind the degree or the master’s I’m chasing, the training I’ve completed or the criticism I’m taking.
Because that’s what this education is “criticism.”
Well you’ll probably accept me for even less if I’ve managed to accrue enough funds to tattoo my neck, arms, legs, back, face and chest.
But then what’s left beneath the ink to see?
Definitely not me.

It would mean the world if my version of you started with conversation and conversions of hue before the sex and address changes.
I didn’t see your face before your ass or breast and you’re pretty so none of that might matter at best.
No wonder I’m barely 30 with these two and you. High debt accompanied by cholesterol and stress, no wonder we got a high ass death….

Ratio, don’t allow me to go racial because 80 percent of the time I did it to myself.
The other 20 percent was them and you.
Any other scenarios are indefinitely unimportant just like my ranking on the facial ladder.
You’re 5 times likelier to be hired over a man and this is the foundation of division… do the maths.

“Who do we think we are…”

John Legend sings, “Who do we think we are…?” Bellowing in another room.

And I fall into concern for self,
Considering all the notches on my belt.
Are these the stories that define my life?
Money I’ve blown, material I own, failing health.
Masking my emotions in a masquerade of career choices and stealth.

And does it all… All fall down?
Because putting it back together seems like a long shot now.
Roadblocks; where failure meets determination and fresh Kung Pao,
White wines and OJ for group toasts now.
Pro-whatever meetings and prayers to excel on the DOW.
It’s just a tiny piece of my soul for a huge fortune of gold, I’m doing better than Judas, but kisses plant equally cold.

The music is still blaring like a concert in the distance, “Who do we think we are…?” Says John Legend.
Clowns like Heath Ledger?
I’m all in the red with ambitions of swiping my name off the ledger.
In the sincerest attempts of becoming a #BOSS

Lost aspect of self, I’m a bigger man though my frame doesn’t agree,
Loss my way on the path to Jesus, traded that for African monarchy.
Bones buried before the bible knew ink,
Before historians knew slave master’s drove their religion into our drinks, and into our kids, then courtesy of whips, now courtesy of “the fix.”

“Who do we think we are?”

A people?

**** A piece inspired by John Legend ft. Rick Ross “Who do we think we are?”

Keep Me, Please…

Swooooshhhhhedddd me right off my feet,
Used to stand on my own now “Staircase to Heaven” is on repeat,
Guess I’m all into you like fillings for pastries,
Maybe we should go back to making…. bā-bies.
Baby I’ve only known you for like 6.
Enough years to add a ring, a home, a child, a proposal, some tears and smiles, joint accounts and new last names with the deserved prefix… Mrs.

You deserve FRS, Type S, S Class, SRT, GS; all acronyms for the best.
Best to do this right and do the whole ceremony with the dress.
Soon as we can afford it, get ready to snap it and refresh. Pin it on your desktop,
Plaster them on your walls,
“Memories don’t live like people do….” says Buju.
And I’m into working hard to make magic happen like voodoo.

2 strands of hair belonging to a rich man,
Pinch of fairy dust,
Legs of 6 money spiders…. etc.

So you or these kids never have to do,
Anything in life short of what you want to do.
The options have never been open so all I need is an option 2.
My life’s mission is taking a global position on being next to you.
Who knew, we’d see these days with the potential of taking this further?
I’ve admitted to being in love but I also am guilty of wanting to be in to you…. #hipthrustdeep
Everything I’ve thrown back couldn’t be for keeps, but I found you and everything I’ve become is only so you’ll keep; me.

So keep me please, begging was always cool if you listen to old school,
RnB, let’s redevelop romance like RND.
View it in super hi-def, Samsung; LG.
Wear it in sin like trading Tru Religion for LRG.
Add some wattage to our lifestyle, NRG.
Stand at the pinnacle of divorce plotting a coup, anarchy, hierarchy.
Anything in bloody murder for you to keep me, please…
I even wrote this on my knees, I’m lying but I thought about it and that’s at least worth points for me.
I love you.

Love IQ

What’s your romance SAT score?
Do you top the 5% of cuddlers, kissers, huggers; with chivalry unheard of before?
When you draft professional works of art from stray sheets of loose leaf does it reminisce Basqiat of love letters or the Chopin of oaths?
Do you boast after you’ve expanded you’re significant other’s coronary like bowls of overheated oats?

In the maths, is it imperative to square confusion with algorithms and does sex require obtuse angles to make the clitoris do like testicles and go firm and then dangle?
Right before orgasm does the vaginal walls go pi and then full circumference?
Is the radius of the penis as important as it’s momentum or mass?

I ask… then,
How much in tune are you with her tune? His favorite fragrance for your skin butters and perfumes?
Her sexiest undies, his most intimate words, her most profound secrets???

What’s the lat. and long. of big, huge, deep passion?

Contend to fixate my attention at your historical beginnings.
I want to divulge in your highs and winnings,
Capture your essence of there and fabricate them in your gutter lows and mediocre moment’s very trimmings.

All for the geography of you or even the history.
Mystery of love is still a mystery.
So soliloquys get in line for grammatical entrance.
The sentence slays communication and the obsession crafting timeless thoughts into the end dance.

You please my presence, so I present my intelligence acquiescence/ generations of feverish perversions pervert the mind/
Blind me with your caring persona and all its fluorescent; light.
My love IQ of you is border line failure and that’s not right.
Not because I’m uninterested but because your character is so vast.

The Children

Commission me with thigh high expectations on changing the world wouldn’t you?
They all are bright-eyed and promising, not yet awakened to the negativity surrounding them, protect them couldn’t you?

They love so hard and are born so honest.
Only to shed skin and become liars, and haters, and drunks and colonists.
Spreading infection to their peers like we did.
Raping the innocence in them, we take pleasure in their most horrific comprehension.
These kids…

Have no future beyond our dissatisfaction with ourselves.
Neglect was never a contraceptive,
We bury ourselves in the latest technology and ipads are not birth control just controlling birth.

Retinal scans and “smart” mobilization, tools to keep us tuned out of our starving nation.
Focused on baking more bread in excess, while stealing every grain of wheat from starving nations.
How can I focus on success?

When I was born into a race that doesn’t even have rights yet?

Don’t speak to me of equality because my son is not comforted with words.
Don’t lie to me of education because you lied to my wife with those words.
Don’t tell me there are reparations when there are more sanctuaries for plants and birds.
There are more clauses and laws for immigration, irrigation and none yet for black, African-American, Moorish, negro… Niggers don’t get the awards.

I’m dissatisfied and disenfranchised.
My history starts with a boat ride.
When the population, the staggering numbers does not coincide with the Triangle Trade…
In denial I took your Apple Pie crumbs but I now refuse your lemonade.

It’s filled with diabetes and my children love it.

They have no future serenading your Star Spangled Banner,
But even they have no where else to call home.

Obsession

I, I, I can’t seem to shake the feeling, no… the urge.
The stomach churning necessity to purge,
The climatic rise accompanied by goosebumps and hormonal spikes.
I recognize the surge of explicit pleasure when it bites my hand every time I feed it.

There’s a thing within my skin that lives to collect as much sin as it can.
Some call it demon, but I call it man.
It’s purpose is destruction and it’s plan is insatiable; it’s contribution is nothing but contraband as is bland.

It craves lust, desires gluttony. It is a sex addict, a thief, a murderer yet looks so human. Too human to be so monstrous.

It’s obsessed with pain and grief. It yearns for attention and when I cannot supply…
It demands MORE. Every strand of resistance takes fatal blows. Bad ideas become good and I do as always after the 12th hour; I give in.

*** Photo credits go to: http://www.faisalalmutar.com/2014/05/11/relationships/

What Would It Be?

If you could ask one question to the universe, God or even the most prolific person you’ve never met what would it be?
Where would you summon the words from?
Would they frame your entire character or describe a small extension of your being?

In that moment would it be your greatest experience?
Would you have the courage to vocally ask it… that thing that’s been eating at your existence?
Who would it be directed to and most definitely what about?
No regs.

But before you utter your query, that festering sore you’ve managed to cultivate into grammar and syntax;
Remember some things are not meant to be comprehended or divulged to people who have no need to know.
Even worse, sometimes certain things should not manifest themselves.

Yet still, if you could conjure one single open ended thought for someone or something else that you absolutely revere to explain; what would it be?