I took the face book quiz a while back;"witch slam poet are you?" and the results declared Andrea Gibson. After some web and YouTube browsing I was honored to be compared to her despite all the apparent variables that this test entailed. I currently attend Guilford College and I'm hoping to organize something in order for her to perform. here's a video special for this day (by me);

"Nigger v. Black People"

im not really sure if this was done as a joke or whet-cant seem to find any info on it. I have my view but I would really like to hear your thoughts, feelings, and opinions!

Sometimes,Only Sometimes

Sometimes I think I’m not beautiful enough

I tuck my insecurities under my tongue

Recite this western rhetoric like my ppl made it

Sometimes I’m ashamed

I wish that I could say what ppl feel

I’m just as afraid

Sometimes I hate the color of my skin

Not because it’s too dark

It’s not dark enough

Sometimes I want to paint my insides black

Tan lines diminish my history

Sometimes I want to stop writing

But there is still a truth I’m scribbling to find

HumUni

There is a point where poetry becomes more than just words that inflict a instant feeling, there is a time when you feel it when words can't explain=there is an longevity.

My Brain has been so fried with school i cant remember if I posted this piece (pretty sure I haven't)

I don’t wanna die of old age
Have the last thing I do make love to an I.V
If I knew a synonym for the word fuck
I would use it
So instead I just want to fuck him
Make him understand what it feels like to be in control



They look like sedated free slaves
No though of where they are going
Sleep like death Penalty
They are consultants of demise


He wipes the blood away from a leaking I.V
As if thinking of the daughter’s hair he may never stroke
Or the tanner oil he may never smell from the inside of his son’s baseball glove
It continues to leak and the memories pour to the beat of each drip


“Doctor, Doctor-why are you avoiding me he silently yells”
Like a baby with a immune system aging backwards


He is frail


Waiting for the patient to close palms like a disciple
The doctor doesn’t even cut a stare
Like a fed up wife who has already printed the papers
The decisions is made
We are sinners of love
There is no room for relationships here
His family doesn’t even know he’s been admitted


Like a dead body in the morgue
He’s waiting to be claimed


This lady reminds me of my grandmother
(all old ladies do)
Resistant because fright defeats love
Her daughter watches reminding me of my mother
The only one that can speak without protest
She’s afraid the cosigning has taken her on a guilt trip
Foe now she understands that her mother is just a prehistoric woman
Hurting from a lost love
And the only closure she has is an empty house in a homeland where survival is no longer her possession

For MaMa

Afraid of your demise

Heart on a high speed pursuit

Tractor trailer that won’t tip over

10 commandments in the iris of your smile

She makes me want to be a saint

It hurts to sin

Words like whiplashes

Broke you down like a fried bible

Watched you burn into the shape of a coffin

I would cut my heart out for her

Place it in the split of a cocoon

I am no where close to perfection

And this poem will never truly be the scripture of my love to you written on the inside of my blood vessels

It hurts to even write these words

I want to break the tip of my nails

Draw your name in with my blood

I’m an Egyptian slave trying to leave love stories for the next woman who will bare pain

I want her to understand that there is always beauty in pain

Like how the tips of your fingers are consolations

Guide me MaMa

Teach me how to forgive like how the lord teaches you that my heart is a broken cradle rocking

Repair me

Forgive me once more

She still loves me and I hate her for it

I am the devil to her god

Pounced fist against the legends of her maps

Took advantage of an old woman

Too selfish to realize she was only reaching out to mend my broken existence

That’s what grandmothers do

Love you when devil has taken your soul

Resurrect you like Christ

She is a godly woman

So I know no matter how much it hurts her to love me she always will

I’m a bad child

Undeserving of her love

Anticipate a Sunday visit

Boiled bananas and dumpling w/ cabbage and salt fish

Afraid my tears will remain the reflection of indulgence

Diabetic heart beating like a sugar cane

I want to be her insulin

Moomie says that if I cry in front of her she’ll become stressed out

I’m still trying to part the sea

It’s like the choice between eating a fruit you have no precedence of and dying of hunger

I want to cry

Reveal that my actions are pure

I don’t love her because the melany in my skin shines like her soul

But because my heart yearns for her forgiveness like a lover lost on the Atlantic coast

His other half was always right

He can’t live without her

Like I can’t live w/o my grandmother

I’m on the verge of breaking my heart in two

I want you to know just how much I love you

3minute conversations on Sundays don’t take away all the shit I’ve put you through

And if the doors of heaven are the closet I can get to you

I’ll sell my soul to the lord

Prove to those non believers that saints exist

MaMa you are perfect

I hate old ladies

They remind me of my Grandmother

The way their knees rattle like a tambourine during 7:30 mass

Backs arched over as if they are carrying my offense on their spine

They are ready to detain me

But they understand the weakness in my heart

My grandmother is ancient

Knows nothing of poetry except the fact that I write

Doesn’t understand metaphors or similes

So it hurts me to know that she may never understand this poem

My feelings may never have any validation

Makes me want to stop writing

These words have always told stories for me

And now my heart beat wants to tell the story

The way it shifts paces as if trying to remind me that she feels the same

My grandmother has a heart problem

I’m terrified she will die w/o ever feeling my love for her

I would feel better if she caught alsimers

Capture my spirit when she hugs me

Loves me with her heart

Not her memory

I’m still selfish

Trying to fill up my own guilt

I want to teach her my name all over again

Show her how to love me like I’m still that little Jamaican girl they call Jackie

Love me like I’m her grandchild

Pull the wool off her eyes

So she can see the 10 commandments in the iris of my smile

Ive posted this before-For you Emilio :)

Play with my words

I know that I've posted pieces before that show a play on words,and this one is an exception to the "rule". I was intrigued by the humble feeling I was able to receive through this mans voice, The story feels real, and is real without being a cliche or call for pity.

I think that this piece is so impressive, Generally I'm open when it comes to talking about sexual health and now she just takes it to a whole 'nother level. I like how humorous, real, and the truth that is embedded in her voice as well as her poetry. Thank You Eboni <3

For Adam

This initially started out as a joke when a friend of mine told me to write a piece pertaining to a simple gesture he did

We don’t love in centuries anymore
Just dumps of vacant hearts waiting to be flushed of water
Never knowing what love is- outside heart beats -flustered words -and blank stares undressing our stories

I’m a woman of many languages
He only knows one
How to be human
Extending left arm like the vessels he once poured rebirth into
Like the death of his past love waiting for her to be born again

He’s a man of many
How to open doors
Cater to freedom
He’s a tired marching bank
Compositions kept under the ring of his retina
Waiting to be released from the lens sack
He knows that simple gestures change lives-holding the door is just one of them

I support Gay Marriage

I recently attended the gay club not only to enjoy myself, but as an intervention for a friend of mine. I was amazed at the wide variety of the "types' of gay men. this reminded me of previous conversations I have had with Black men who would talk about "non of my niggas ain't gay". The men inside the club looked just like the same ni**as the black men I knew were talking about. The main thing that I wanted to touch on was how open the space was and I don't think it was because the club is catered to gays but it was something far beyond that-it was the people. There was this young man that stood out to me like the last piece of cake that no one wasn't to eat;there is no fear, but its just too good to taste. His dancing reminded me of when I first fell in love with Usher (he even looks like him).
Aside from the dancing (i don't seem to remember much-it was about 2-3 weeks ago). I have repeatedly said Black men because what I find many times in the black community that it is hard, and unlikely they will be accept of one of their own being a gay Black man. I posted a video a while back of a gathering with Black men speaking about their experiences and particularly how Black women in the community react to them. I think that this is a topic for discussion, and Please feel free to respond AND comment!

I absolutely think that Idris Elba is beautifully born. I am ecstatic to see the new movie-Takers. Here are my top five reasons;
1.I receiuved a review-"those are some good looking men"
2.T.I.P is back in the game
3.OBSESSED NEEDS TO STOOP REPEATING
4.There is a great diversity in race of actors and their talents
5.I haven't seen a movie in about apx. year and 3 months

extended metaphor from a Friday session (finalized)

I previously posted an extended metaphors a few months ago-since then I have done some editing (and I believe u will LOVE it)

Part 1-Cracked Mirror

Split my tongue 4 ways

Like the other 4 halves of me

Crazy glue my tonsils backwards

I want to remember what it feels like to be whole again

Part 2-Coming to America

Comb the taste buds from my tongue

History holds no validation here

I’m fleshless

Meatless

Assimilation stripped

Part 3-Graduation

I’m a refugee

She’s a capitalist

I’m willing to turn her into a nationalist

Tame her like a scripture

Practice what she preach

Strip her jaw lines

Sew her smile tight

The burns aren’t too pretty

Beauty pains her

Part 4-I’m tired of struggle

She’s a black canvas in living color

Color me His-Story

She wants to be History

Roaring panther, Jazz like, Stagnant

Part 5-Heartbreak

He always told me that I had the bluest eyes

Loved the way I combed fur balls from my roots

He could tell I was a fighter

Spoke the language of pig skin with me as we watched the grass break at the edge of the 40 yard line

I was his swine

Prized the way I made love to mud like a premature hood rat craving Sephora before knowledge

I was recently in the hospital (waiting on someone-nothing serious), and I began to examine the noises, ppl, and things that were happening. I then decide to just jot little pieces and ended up with this;

I don’t wanna die of old age

Have the last thing I do make love to an I.V

If I knew a synonym for the word fuck

I would use it

So instead I just want to fuck him

Make him understand what it feels like to be in control

They look like sedated free slaves

No though of where they are going

Sleep like death Penalty

They are consultants of demise

He wipes the blood away from a leaking I.V

As if thinking of the daughter’s hair he may never stroke

Or the tanner oil he may never smell from the inside of his son’s baseball glove

It continues to leak and the memories pour to the beat of each drip

“Doctor, Doctor-why are you avoiding me he silently yells”

Like a baby with a immune system aging backwards

He is frail

Waiting for the patient to close palms like a disciple

The doctor doesn’t even cut a stare

Like a fed up wife who has already printed the papers

The decisions is made

We are sinners of love

There is no room for relationships here

His family doesn’t even know he’s been admitted

Like a dead body in the morgue

He’s waiting to be claimed

This lady reminds me of my grandmother

(all old ladies do)

Resistant because fright defeats love

Her daughter watches reminding me of my mother

The only one that can speak without protest

She’s afraid the cosigning has taken her on a guilt trip

Foe now she understands that her mother is just a prehistoric woman

Hurting from a lost love

And the only closure she has is an empty house in a homeland where survival is no longer her possession