P.S.

{addendum to the letter}

it's been well over a year, and in the midst of all the other learning and growing i've been doing, my heart's nagging for more has resurfaced.

i am getting closer and closer to fully calling you, drawing you to me. soon, i'll be singing your name to breezes and ocean waves, looking for visits in my dreams.

this spring, i began growing plants. the process has shown me that i need a love like a seed; a partnership between forces of nature, sprouted and nurtured in love, trust and acceptance.

after making due with men tangled up in obligations, i've also realized i need someone who mirrors my freedom, a man able to exert comparable energy in the creation and maintenance of our love.

i know i've hesitated to ask for that in the past, but i think i've earned the right to it now.  

i am sassafrass rehabilitated, growing into my indigo self.

i hope you don't mind the moon falling from my mouth.

in loving anticipation,

o.

lament letter

there is nothing like the feeling of being separated from you. nothing.

it begins with mental images. then slowly, deliberately, the sensation moves into my heart, where it causes a very specific ache.

the dull throb of a cut with just a bit of dirt rubbed in.

and while i ache, the memories come...

i recently spent the better part of a day feeling like my face was buried in your chest--you know that spot my forehead touches if i'm hugging you with no shoes on? there. i was right there. your arms lingered on my waist, resting on my hips.

there is no rhyme or reason to these flashbacks. they simply visit, merciless, immune to repeated choruses of "we're not speaking anymore".

we're not speaking
any
more...
again.

so i'm left here, alone. trying to scribble and type the ache away, praying for dreams and asking them not to actually come...because i'll only miss you more if i see you there.

i can't help wanting to see you.

i know. this is messy. it's been messy between us for a long time.

what i know:

1. we are mirror images of each other, reflecting negative and positive polarities depending on varied situations and life stages.

2. we will always love each other.

3. we will seek each other out.

some days the knowing is enough.

the days i write / cry / scream / sulk are the days it isn't.

i miss you. so much.

an open love letter

to the tall, beautiful, kind-hearted brotha-i-don't-know-yet, 

i have to admit, i am a little nervous, writing to you.  see, some time ago, i thought i'd found the person i'd spend the rest of my life with.  things didn't work out.

that's where you come in. events appear to have conspired to find us here, searching for one another across these spaces and times.

another introduction...

i am a woman who has always defined herself by the words she's put to innumerable pages.

pens are my scalpels and they spill ink blot guts everywhere. they soak the pages i hide throughout every living space i've ever inhabited--not unlike a schizophrenic leprechaun with an unlimited supply of gold.

i will write until i can no longer breathe.

the idea for this space was conceptualized in the middle of a late night, by a self in the process of nourishing, growing, and blossoming herself into the heavenly creature she was born to be.

that ain't easy to do in this here babylon.
but i'm gonna try anyway.

use your words

...that's the message i'm working with right now.

so i need to write. often. i need to finish one of these half-assed projects that's been rolling around in my head for the past few years.

i suppose that's all well and good. at least it would be if i weren't so...

frustrated
overstimulated
fiercely impatient
overfed
insatiable
tired
cranky
temperamental
dissatisfied
hot (as in warm. literally.)

...aching like a starving goddess with no living medium to remember her name.

it's probably underutilized and stagnant creative energy bubbling up to the surface.

i'd like it to shut up and go away. or at least simmer down.

but i suppose i'll have to bear with the discomfort until i determine how i'm going to use it...

mystery

i seem to nullify creativity, suffocating it in layers of bills and responsibility.

an artist with no art, no fire under my feet.

leaps of faith seem to be beyond my understanding.

i keep wondering what it's going to take for me to be me.

how can i define my dreams? does a medium exist that can make sense of my visions and voices?

what's holding me back?

issues

i want to say
something like
"i don't use
band-aids!
...i bleed thru penstrokes and
make pages drip lifewater!"

but it sounds far too cliche.
and these days
i fear those
more than anything.

the world is in serious need
of innovation--
there are already
too many cycles
too much history
too many people
repeating...

i always wonder
if i'm part of the solution
or perpetuating the problem.

i mean,
def poetry
makes everyone old enough to
stay up past midnight
wannabe a poet.

every hustla's the next jay-z
get shot and you're an instant ja rule
maybe even a pac or biggie-style martyr

i write 'cause i have to.

there's no goal or destination,
no record deal or basement studio cd--

i just do this.
automatically.
universal ticker tape machine
running off emotional dividends
and updates on the worth of the ancestors
(refreshed daily for someone's convenience)

so i won't start in on
the beauty of my nubian people
the merits and/or detriment of pussy poems or
late night thoughts of wrist-slitting and angst.

i just want to know
if any of these words have a purpose
and constantly consider
the validity
of the messenger.

a shout out (originally titled "manifesto")

…there has to be a better way to live, a better way to manifest our humanity. what is going on around the world right now is indicative of the worst of human behavior. on the other hand, there are miracles in the chaos. there are many testaments to the human spirit being written…even if they are being written in blood.

it's not going to end any time soon, but it's possible to end it. maybe everything has to fall apart first, be put back together. i don't know the details. i have a few ideas, but that's about all.

however, i'm tired of feeling like—no, knowing—that we are failing all the tests we're being given. history isn't repeating itself in the normal way; we are aiding and abetting it--and not the good history, either.

we're opting to follow the money trail versus going into the light.

something has to give, and soon.

otherwise this society will implode of its own arrogance and stupidity. there are people all over the nation and all over the world saying this, but the ones in the best positions are the people doing absolutely nothing about it.

it will take years for any of this to affect them, so they are willing to take their chances.

the rest of us don't have that kind of time. and, apparently, as long as we're "kept" people, we don't seem to care.

go on and brush your shoulders off….yeah. that's cool for a minute or so, but what are you gonna do in the long run?

when the people come crashing thru those gated communities and loot your palace instead of the one hundreds of miles away?