Take Flight

I know,
it looks and feels
like a long way down,
a spiraling staircase
to your demise but
what if you fly?

I agree, the ground
is bone breaking solid
polished with your demolish,
but what if
you were meant to soar?

What if,
you taste of liberty
and get addicted to freedom,
get addicted to wanting more?

Truth is,
it might hurt to try,
but fear is but a lie
to keep you grounded
when your spirit
was destined for the skies.

So take flight.
Take flight and don’t return
to your cage,
do not miss
this stage of stagnant.

You,
are magnetized to wild now.
Just,
give the rest of us some time
to reconstruct belief
back into our wings.

At least we can say
one of us made it,
and that one of us
was you.

You that nourished truth
and starved your fears.
You pioneer of dreams,
belief engineer.
We believe now.
We believe because of you.

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Insurance Claim

Seldom
does she ask for favors
but when she does,
it is backed by an insurance called:
“If you can’t, don’t worry
I got it,”
and she does.

Understand, sacred texts
refer to her as “help meet,”
male egos transpose her flesh
into just meat,
but her womanhood
can’t subscribe to either.

Her ether,
is in the realm of leaders,
warriors,
and achievers.
Therefore, she has no time
for dreamers,
bickerers,
nor deceivers.

She’s constructed herself
with adamantine belief
you mistake for being
prudish,
stubborn and hard-nosed.
Truth is,
she’s heard enough of Judas,
seen enough of Brutus
to not superimpose
her own brutish
into her being,
savage into her seams.

She,
has hard-boiled eyes
that has never cracked
over the yoke she has borne
through the years,
so what makes you think
any part of you
is worth her tears?

Truth is,
she’s blueprint
for incompliant,
has a hard time being pliant
to your feeble frame of mind
so she can’t picture
being in need of you.

So if you can’t fathom
a woman composed
of less damsel than damnation,
less heaven than hell;
if you can’t imagine
a woman so whole,
holy becomes an understatement,
a religion you can’t sell;
if you can’t compute
a woman with enough
assurance in herself
that she doesn’t need to
buy your validation;
if you can’t,
don’t worry.
She’s got it.

I Am

They told me 
I was a vessel 
for the breath of God, 
that my body
is His temple;
and I wonder
if things have changed. 

Sometimes, 
I feel more like ruins 
than sanctuary. 
Somedays, 
I shatter into shards
searching for the sacred in me. 

Sometimes, 
the holy within
rides as far as my exhale. 
Somedays, 
I cause cramps 
in my Potter’s hands. 

They told me 
that I’m just human,
woven and spun
to become undone but
sanctuary
is the embrace encased
in non-judgment 
and love;
sacred
are the hands that carried
my heathen ruins
back to believing;
holy
is the breath that whispered:
“Try again
because you can,”
when hope felt crippled. 

Divine
are the words that told me
that I’m not just man, 
not just bone, 
not just breath,
not a heart
that beats to death.

We are,
you are,
I am…

Love unrealized, 
forgotten, 
reposing in a stupor
waiting to be ignited 
by hurt, 
betrayal, 
a series 
of unfortunate events
meant to remind us 
that I am, 
you are, 
we are 
love. 

Question

When the sincerity in her eyes
inquires a deeper response than
“I’m fine,”
when her gaze
shifts in a way
to implore of you:
“What’s wrong;” 
know that no soul
will ever care more. 

Understand, 
her gentle demands 
stems from a place 
her hands desire 
to realign your vertebrae of belief
in yourself,
for yourself. 

Acknowledge, 
that she has put her
personal battles on pause
to gird up and battle 
for your war. 
She’ll lend you her strength
in the form of untiring limbs
and an unselfish yet bruised heart 
in hopes of restoring 
the king in you. 

So be honest. 
Show her the chinks 
in your armor, 
the broken 
in your smile, 
the fissures 
in your laughter. 
Show her
that you bleed, 
prove 
that you’re human
and she will patch you
with a love 
you need not question,
a love 
just for you. 

She said…

She said,
she’s never been
held like this before but,
not verbally.

It was in the way her
hands glided up
and down,
gripping enticement.

The way her fingers
ghost walked
down the corridor of my spine,
flanked my sides,
continued the aerial assault
on my senses
with nothing pretentious.

I could tell,
even her shadow
wanted to be one with mine
with a union that cloned
our identities,
so seamlessly.

An amalgam
of mind
and flesh,
soul,
and breath,
heart
and chest;
a rhythm
we meshed
beautifully.

Somewhere
her inhibitions
lost their footing.
Her nails,
clawed for reasons
to let go,
found none
to drive her to safety
only satiety.

She converted my embrace
into home,
willingly placed herself
under house arrest
in my arms,
til she can trust
another’s touch
won’t leave her more judged
than justified,
more livid
than loved,
more broken
than she was found.

Worth a Welcome 

My presence
seems to have the power
to abracadabra her cheeks
into levitating
several stories high
above her worst days.
I’m
her natural botox
outside the box;
negativity
not included.  

I, pixie dust
the concern on her brow
to accelerate from
zero to gone and she
still won’t admit
I’m the cause of all this but,
I kinda like it that way. 

Her eyes
flirt more honestly
than her lips would permit but,
at least I know
what her soul looks like
without the filters. 

On occasion,
she invites me
through her optical windows;
helps me climb
over her pane and trusts
that I won’t tear out the floorboards
that keep her human like:
her unbroken belief
that a man’s hands
were created for more than
breaking,
more than bashing,
bruising,
blasting
in and out
of a woman’s heart,
although the evidence
for this myth of a man is lacking. 

You see she’s
trusted others before
who’ve polished their
devilish pitchforks
into silverware;
thrusted her trust
onto some cutting board
to dice and mince her love
until she could no longer
discern her reflection. 

I don’t have to tell you
she’s been misused
when her best smile
looks like a hand-me-down
from abuse. 

And that’s exactly why
her faith in me
scares me,
abruptly erupts my core
with how sure she is
that I’m not composed of failure,
that I’m not the man
to fail her. 

So I stand quick
to hail her,
not for the struggles
she has suffered,
not for the battles
she has braved,
not for the whips
she has weathered
but for the belief
that she has saved…
for someone like me.

Someone
who could barely juggle
the suggestions from
right shoulder angel
and left shoulder demon.
I still
have no idea
what you see in me… 

But for what it’s worth
I’ll love you like
the last man standing
to prove your myth of a man to be true. 

P.S:

When she looks at you
through her exit wounds,
give her a reason
as to why you’re worth a welcome,
it’ll look a lot like
why you deserve to stay. 

Next Crush

When she 
pretends to fall off 
the monkeybars, 
fabricates this scene
of disparity
to host your intro
as her hero, 
only to broadcast
that you have the cooties 
to every child present
after helping her up…

When he
writes you love letters so sweet
that your heart starts to
beat in Maple
and pulse in syrup, 
only for him to deny
that you aren’t his French vanilla
in the company
of “masculinity…” 

When she looks at you, 
eyes you down 
with disdain, 
disapproval leaking 
from the ceiling 
of her tolerance 
while you think 
you’re on the cusp of giving 
the world’s best 
best man’s speech… 

When he conveniently 
“forgets”
to introduce you 
as his better half
to his “she’s just a friend,” 
laughs it off 
in dismissive fashion 
as if your feelings 
were rations it’d be irrational 
to throw a war over…

When she sobers up 
after drunk texting you
her heart’s confessions
only to chalk it up
to a cup too many,
a will too weak… 

When honest conversations 
cease to arrest their attention.

When your weekend 
starts to feel like 
a merry-go-round of clubs
you’ve already seen enough of. 

When you find yourself questioning
why are you even here? 
What do you love about him
that keeps you around? 
What do you admire about her
that fuels your fire
to try to make things work? 

Step One: Self-assess. 
Never sit for a meal
where you’ve set the table, 
prepped the appetizers, 
main course AND dessert 
yet still expected 
to clean up after. 

Step Two: Re-evaluate. 
If this
wasn’t what you signed up for? 
Then do yourself a favor
and leave. 

Step Three: 
It really is that simple. 

Step Four:
Never stay
with someone who wants more
but is allergic to doing more. 

Step Five:
Remember, 
what made you feel alive. 
Remember, 
what about them sparked your flame. 
Remember, 
why he made you feel invincible. 
Remember, 
why you would go to war for her. 

Remember. 

Remember who you are,
that you’re priceless, 
worth going to war for, 
invincible, 
more than a flicker 
of flame dancing in rain. 
You are power, 
you are youth, 
you are beauty, 
you are truth. 

You. 
You are love so
drink
up. 
Get your heart
so drunk with yourself
that you get cited 
with a DUI while sober. 

Get your heart
beating itself in disbelief
for taking this long
to find you. 

Get your heart
unbroken enough
to breakdance
in front of your next crush and
may your next crush
be no other
than you.