She sings the Church songs on Sunday
and tries to emulate the feeling the singer had
In its absence, she taps those soon-to-be
manicured nails on the table
and taps those eight years old Shirleys
that even God would question on the floor
She bows her head and damn near speaks
in tongues that even the tongue can’t decipher
She taps the mind to make it believe, like she does, that She is doing all the right things to make it into Heaven’s God’s grace
She can’t wait ’til Church is over
So She can resume how others see her
All along, She was planning her day
Tag: grace
The Turnaround
How do I say, “No”
before I break my own heart?
Do I have to go along
with it all until You tell me,
“It’s not working”?
Or must I lose my fire
because all the matches I had
are now immersed under water?
Would I have relearn how to cry?
Maybe I would stutter
How can I mess up a simple word
that could either strengthen me
or the one thing that could cause me
to crumble before all those who I knew
were laughing at me in my face
while shaking their pathetic heads?
I want to be better
I should be better
I can be better
than what I have here now
There is a world outside of this shell
that wants to know me well
to see me well
to see me do well
and grow along with Me
So, I have to say, “No,”
before I am no longer able to
I gave you a piece of Me
and you can keep it
But I will feed it and make it grow back
fuller, stronger, and more productive
All by myself
until I am able to say, “Yes,”
again without hesitation
without doubt
without grief
without pain
without a You who wants nothing
out of life
I want to feel my heart beating
everywhere like a walking orgasm
because I want
because I desire
to share
and not just give
to someone unwilling to learn
how to love back
I have to be selfish
Now, when I face you,
that “No,” means that I have turned
Myself “On”
On I am
On I will be
Alive, valuable, worthy, and somebody
Good Night Glory
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Let me tell you a story
About a young buck South
In his nighttime glory
Getting high off his tunes
To later use one or two spoons
Minding his own business
Short of a neighborhood
Where his own kin lived
But that wasn’t enough
Came a lone-star stranger
Hoping to strut his stuff
Alerting the Po-Po
About his urge to blow
One whose smile was hard to glow
Stay back, they said don’t go
Like jumping from a rooftop
He made the kid stop
The pistol told a different story
For the cop and
Lone-Ranger gunning down
The nighttime glory
Stand Your Ground
Was the law they found
To cover up gagged and bound
And rid themselves of a Bassett Hound
Happens almost everyday
When night takes a walk in the day
The wrong way
Nighttime brings about fear
When things become missing it’s all too clear
That it must have been them
The ones who used to swing from a limb
But what’s past is past
Not in the midst of a law built to last
Maybe it’s just a slap in the face
Getting back at the darkness who won the race
Shame on America
When an unjustified death won’t disparage ya
A stalker is the aggressor
It’s doesn’t take a rock scientist or professor
To see that
It’s still about dollar signs
When a repressed Black man is bombarded with wines
And spirits
Damn near Whip-Its
Keeping his head underwater
He barely feeds his daughter
Let alone his son
Who’ll always be on the run
Because the Judge became executioner
Placing the blame on a juror
Who arrived with furor
After a brief tour of
The decision she would rise above
Six out of twelve
That was all was needed to send the dead to Hell
The Defense made a rinse
Out of the Prosecution probably made to straddle the fence
Jesus died for the Jews
Saved a man with a name who helped hide all the clues
With Justice
Because it just is
Now they all can take a pill
Shoot at will
Aim to kill
Yet and still
Until
A lighter shrill
Gets a fine thrill
From Tonto at the mill
Then nighttime glory
Gets paid for his fatal story
Stand Your Ground Law
Shole does have a fatal flaw
Those who lied
About what they saw
Need only be despised
By their mental claw
We know they saw much more
Women telling untruths so their butts won’t sore
Or
Men of his peers
Who supported a cause like one against steers and queers
Is it still envy toward the young buck
Who has all that hangin’ and still down on his luck
Whoever wrote “The Message”
Needs to come out of hiding and re-write the passage
Of the Black man
Who can’t even stand
When there’s a rule
That calls him a fool
For being a tool
In a tar pool
Even if he has gone to school
Where is Glory?
Ask Mama, but trust Dad
Before your nose gets bloody
And fighting gets you sad
When you can’t find your best buddy
Ask Mama, but trust Dad
Sometimes they need a fist
To go upside that head
I know it’s such a twist
It’s as if you are seeing red
When you’ve tried making peace
But it’s going from worse to bad
Stop making your own elbow grease
Ask Mama, but trust Dad
Mama don’t want no hurt
She tries to make things right
Even tries for a sit down chat
If Daddy sees a bruise
He’s got nothing to lose
They’ll all know where the party’s at
Both sides of good
Keeping grace and love
in the neighborhood
They know how to settle the score
A different way to fight
one dark one light
Hey, that’s what parents are for
When you keep trying to make peace
But things just get too bad
Stop using your own elbow grease
Tell Mama, but trust big bad Dad
The Upside of Anger
How can I eat
Hearing your belly roar with fear
Watching you wince and grimace
holding back the shame and tear
The etiquette I have
for holding a fork and a knife
cast doubt over your pallor and pitless strife
When my tongue utters common praise
careful words do form every phrase
What is it that’s inside your head
that makes you dream visions of unspeakable dread
Every day Santa comes
to grasp your face with his fingers and his two thumbs
How I wish for my own abyss
before the cardinal plants his lonely sweet kiss
Mirrored images shadows speak
abandon the living but take the weak
Cheeky faces they all do lie
Seeking refuge up in the sky
Tumors they do grow all around
But X-rays are then tossed in Lost and Found
Who says Who, Who says When
And determines life from a mortal sin
Try to manage and stay abreast
Then in time you have peace and rest
Life’s Painter
Thoughts are like colors
Grayer than strange
More absurd than dark blue
Bloodier than deep red
Thoughts guide fingers
Though the hand forms the curve
The eyes behold all the beauty
Stars and sun over the rainbow
Life’s Painter tells the tale
Of joy and pain
Yet all joy is not happiness
Pain forms a kind of death
Frayed bristles are of a frayed mind
Overexposed is overused
For some, a baptism is once
The alcoholic needs to dry
Then splatter, if he must
And call life art
Precision brings best decisions
Clean and neat shows control
The canvas on display
If he is so lucky
Value placed on his life
What a bargain
…Turn at Bat
At bat
I am
As my eyes close
I feel where I am
Why I am there
What I need to do
And where I want to send
Myself
And I will send myself far
Further outside the stands
Than those standing
to catch me
hoping to be the lucky one
The Lucky one
And I feel where I am
And I grip myself well enough
And
When opposition hurls itself at me
I greet it
I meet it
And send it on its way
And as I soar
And as high as I soar
It is forgotten
Whether how foul
Or caught down below
At bat
I close my eyes
And I am a hit
Because I am at bat
And the stands are reaching
For me
Gioconda
Should my hands not cover
the tips of my nipples, let me
turn slightly so as to not expose
my Pinocchio nose down below
And should my bells lag then
imagine their pleasure
when frustration becomes less
of a beautifully crafted barbaric
mess as of if pounding the Gorilla’s
chest
Beneath your navel your brow beads
trickling from perspiration
Dab it I do
knowing it will never dry as
long as I am long and strong enough
for you to cuff me
time and time again
There
And down there
wasting each other after engulfing
me lovingly yet violently
yet insatiably
Let us not speak after words
even though you may see the dark
side of my moon as I walk away
Look at my face
when I return and then after
for completeness
TTBoy's Infamous Blog 