feel the need to challenge the doctors

so i take my medication

& attend therapy

& daydream in between about what it would feel like

not to be sick,

not to be this.

i smoke my cigarettes

& decline the trees

& google the side-effects because you never really know

& google the symptoms because they never really know

& take another pull from my jack before

challenging the doctors again.

look these orange bottles

in both of their eyes

& then look me in mine

& tell me i don’t want to be

better. 

(Source: thepoetsspace)

Keep silent, keep peace. Stay silent, no peace. So silent, one piece. Kept silence, broken piece…

days like today make
me want a wrist watch. put these
feelings on the clock.

(Source: thepoetsspace)

all i wanna do is scream

scream for trayvon

scream for troy

scream for brown boys with big eyes, & wide smiles that are only suspicious in a kitchen where a cookie happens to go missing between chocolate cheeks & butterfinger giggles.
My younger brother’s got a smile like that, a lanky frame he tends to lay sprawled across my grandmothers couch. I’ve seen him down skittles between whistles at a soccer match, drink mucho mango from the can.
My dad’s girlfriend has a 5 year old little boy, sun missed skin a shade of summer joy & honeycomb. I wanna scream for the cub he is & the lion he’ll have to become. In a concrete jungle where simba strolls with hyenas to fight pigs in wolves’ hide. & pray to god that house cats aren’t the only ones with nine lives…

all i wanna do is scream

scream for trayvon

scream for troy

scream for brown boys with big eyes, & wide smiles that are only suspicious in a kitchen where a cookie happens to go missing between baby teeth & open spaces.

scream for mothers who bought hoodies they had to hide because something was suspicious about the cotton stitching, the fabric can’t have been made in America

this can’t be America,

do blue skies really breed white clouds, & do those clouds bleed red stripes?

do brown hands not deserve their slice of the pie, or is feeding black families really cruel (as good ol’ rick might have you believe).

where’s my 30 acres

& who shot my mule?

(Source: thepoetsspace)

this feels like wanting to die..

like wanting to want to die like,

keeping yourself alive because she says

she needs you..

(Source: thepoetsspace)

thepoetsspace:

you’re like every vice but twice as nice you make life right

or is it wrong to overdose on a love i chose so many autumns ago.

you’re like a wave, & i’m heavy in the currents you came with,

drunk in the accent you spoke my name with.

it never sounded as sweet as it did on your lips,

fingers never understood grip until they met your hips;

i’m in love…

This poem is Ass McAssington.

I shouldn’t write under that influence anymore..

you’re like every vice but twice as nice you make life right

or is it wrong to overdose on a love i chose so many autumns ago.

you’re like a wave, & i’m heavy in the currents you came with,

drunk in the accent you spoke my name with.

it never sounded as sweet as it did on your lips,

fingers never understood grip until they met your hips;

i’m in love…

(Source: thepoetsspace)

i only ran out of words
in april because
30 days, & 30 poems
can be intimidating when
each stanza is a reflection.

maybe i should ask the mirror again,

is there a poet in the room?

(Source: thepoetsspace)

white lies in the comfort of american soil, less than six feet deep, white walks on two, sees in blue, white lies when it says white can’t jump, too. rather, white gets bruised because privilege aint a shade you can wash away either, & there’s never been a white lie told that was a negro pleaser. never mixed a shade that made white cleaner, than trailer parks where white don’t paint the ghettos in gold but it shole don’t put food in white bellies when it can’t — & not because it wont but because it can’t. white smiles aint all true. black beats white blue like white don’t lie, too.

(Source: thepoetsspace)