Turtle Doves

If tonight is my last I would ask if you wanted to sneak into the auditorium of 390
Where the the piano keys are waiting for your fingerprints to touch it again
Where the seat I sat in is waiting to absorb the sweat from my buttocks
I sweat when I get nervous
[But you already know that]
When the cocoons in my chest burst unfold butterflies in my stomach

I would watch you play the same song you played that day
We were the only two that knew that Stevie was dreaming of a love like ours when he hummed that melody
When the liberty bell in his heart shattered when he saw us letting go
We are closer than a mother and a fetus
Than a autistic artist that can paint every detail of a city after flying over it one
We are unexplainable

I know that I have always loved you
And you will always love me
When I decide it is time to tear my soul apart from my limbs
I know that you will let me
Not because misery loves company
But because you will be here to catch me

I would pretend to be sexy while laying on the piano
You'll laugh and tell me that I looked sexier and more beautiful while trying to stop my ass bone from catching a splinter from the wooden auditorium chair
I would resort to that night I cried for over eight hours and you can still remember what every tear sounded like
What every word felt like
And I can remember how I tried so hard for you to see the cracks I saw in me

You couldn't

I would tell you that there are a few secrets that I have left locked in a pouch waiting for you to hold on to in remembrance of me
I want you know everything about me
I know that you would tell me that you know everything
Not what you need to know

Madea Goes to Jail

Her body laid broken on the wrinkled twin sheets
Her tears reflected the empty stained picture frames that laid hallow on her father's vanity
He was too selfish to see her cries for help
How bad she wanted to fit in
Separate from the material items, money, and straight hair she only wanted him to be her friend
The hood had been standing silent for years
There was still a spirit the Black on their skin shared

"I needed you and you weren't there [...]"

Where was the dark face she cried for when the sweat from their bodies mixed like a Black sunset with her's
When they thrust something ugly and molded inside her sculpted and beautiful vagina
Her body stood scattered and dismantled on the twin bed
She glanced at her lingering ghost hanging on the sheets
He cried alone and spoke apologies in his head
They say she had problems before the rape ever occurred
She was called a victim before she ever knew it
Before the system labeled her

She's a woman Black and folded into stories of Black womanhood
Four virtues left non existent
We stain easily but seize to break even when every bone has been broken more than once
Spine a painted collage illustrating Black women's history
Our hands still remain beautiful when cradling the blood dripping from our middle passage
Holding the Black boys face
Embracing the dust and smell from printed pages
And in the way we raise our fist

There are still pieces of you lingering in the air
The trickle of your sweat still degrading in the grass
Your fingerprints digging deeper impressions into the walls
There is still that shade of Black roaming in the gym and your words are still thriving in my bones
There will always be a moment I shed a tear for you [for myself]

I wear the V-neck you left behind sometimes
As my sweat stains the armpits and pushes the cotton fibers further away from my curves

I hope that you are moving simultaneously with it
I want to forget you but I want you to remember me
Not my name or who I ever was but the way you felt my spirit holding you over the edge
The way I took air from your lungs and gave you life
I want to tell you that there is still friendship in my heart for you
I want to capture your smile in a song
The way a song captures the pain of our darkness no matter how distant the words may be

Write by Kahlia Roberts

Why am I told,
Write poetry, Write poetry,
Write something?

Why am I commanded to Write?
It is so much more sacred than that.
Poetry must flow.
It cannot be induced,
But must be felt,
Must be born,

As of all writing,
And all things.

Write, write, write!
It is a process, unstructured,
And is based on living, not
Doing.

We the scribes and writers,
We must deflect or words
To our hearts,
And our souls must fly and
float, simultaneously –
For any true literature to be Born.

Write, write, write!
It is a process, unstructured,
And one cannot rush birth –
It must be loved,
And cultivated gently,
And then, like a flower, like a soul,
It blooms.

Write, write, write.
In the calm, in the
pulse,

Write.

I feel like this sometimes when something is blocking my mind and heart and there feels like there is no time to sit and write because it is being forced out of me.

Skinny girls also want to be thin

I hate when people make remark about how thin I am
And when I complain about eating ice creme they tell me how they once had a few more years on them
These love handles can just as easily illustrate pictures of the playground you cried on
Fog your bathroom mirror like get thin cigarettes draining the color left inside you
I sometimes wish I were thinner
A size 4 isn't good enough when everyone assumes your a size 1
Sometimes I'm afraid to capture a portrait of myself
Afraid that the imperfections I have invested mile runs and sprints into will move to my neck
Beauty is defined by our bodies
I even run to feel beautiful

My Sahara toned skin will never be perfect
I'm a Black woman with a limited amount of shorts
Shaped out by my measurements
A Black woman isn't suppose to be this thin
My rear end is suppose to be the first thing you see
Its hard to distinguish the times we have faced forward
Many are still bowling with our chest
The box springs of the ring are pushing us back and forth like windshield wipers

My black isn't thin enough
My Black isn't curvy enough
My Black isn't fat enough
My Black isn't woman
I don't know what shape I'm suppose to be
There are no geometric symbols to identify my swaying branches
The whole in my trunk
And the names carved into my age
There are only mainstream hip hop lyrics
Music videos
And reality t.v

I liked it better when our breast hung forward like treasure chest
Cradling pain and pleasure
When we laid backwards on grass to follow the sun
When we were sculpted with natural materials
Not steel instruments
Our margins are so thin brothers can't leave their stories with their thumbs

Don't know if this piece is at the point of being finished or even understood by me but it just is

I want to love a man like the way sucking my thumb makes me feel when crying
Love him like the smell of home
Sweat swimming on my upper lip
Mummie yelling at different intervals
And the chaos makes being organized disorderly
Like the way rain heals the hungry, tired and weak
Like the way a dog is man's best friend
Like my first heartbreak
I can only remember the last
Like dreams when I was six

I plan love like the outline for a 15 page paper I think I will never get through
I'm down to the last 3 and wishing this paper was 25 instead of 15
I love disorganized

I need a man that can be the scrapbook loving me like a planner
Holding on to every piece of me in remembrance
I need a man that is in fear of losing me every second that his heart plays
I need a man that can love me more than I love myself
Like the way I know god loves me
I need a man that loves the way my Afro lays itself down
I need a man that loves all my worries
And can match the shaking of my heart with his beats
Love me like MaMa loved PaPa
Like how his spirit is a part of her even though he's gone
Like the way I love words
Like the way we want love
I need a man to love me like the love I haven't daydreamed about
Like unwritten love poems
And the way love doesn't know itself

Just added a few edits; enjoy!

Jamaica Osorio

This piece speaks for itself, all the feelings it encompass, it's context, and the whole body. This url for her blog is just below, she writes another piece everyday so you will NEVER stop reading.
Blog: http://jamaicaosoriopoetry.blogspot.com/

"Without language we have nothing"

This piece is amazing, and it truly illustrates the power of language and its ability to tell a story. Check out Brave New voices on youtube, and look out for the upcoming competition that will be aired on HBO.

It's always amazing to see something you have been a part of for so long and that has also become a home for you grow. All throughout high school I was [still am] involved with an organization' Project Reach Youth is definitely one of the most amazing non-profits that care about their participants and go beyond being just facilitators. There is a lot of student involvement and community investment. Despite their initial goal to educate and protect teens about sexual health they are involved in the young people's education and the relationships they build with each other. I won't overstretch all the details but I urge you to check them out of facebook and the blog url below.
Facebook: PRY safe
Blog: http://safeinbk.com/

I have written four new pieces in the past month. I'm happy about the place where my writing is at, I hope for the words to feel the same as they once did. I know that this will never be, and the ability to write again, and write something that I can feel growing with every edi gives me new found joy and inspiration. I will soon be posting other things from this summer once I feel that they are truthful to me and I feel comfortable with what I have written.
I have had the pleasure of performing and attending some open mics this summer. I'm thinking about joining [competing with] the Piedmont team [ Greensboro poetry slam team]. I received some advice from that coach and not its up to me to make the decision and get my priorities in place. The words were truly an inspiration for me. Many of the poems I hear in the city is very metaphoric. I loved hearing pieces from people in Greensboro and North Carolina because I was able to listen to their story as if they were having a simple conversation with me but yet so complex and beautiful.
eel free to check in on my blog every week; if I don't post my own work there may be things that have inspired me or make me happy that I post on here.

New Piece that still needs room to grow

I always wanted to write a love poem about you
I though that way we would mean something
About how much your smile built me a home
Your caff muscles were my branches
The way you stand tall with tears in your eyes
Hidden anger in your chest waiting to reach your heart
Until I came along
This is the story I wished to see

This is the story I saw
An angel waiting for his wings
And a fallen star who sewed them onto his back
I was never right for you
Turned you smile into a sound
You were like a train passing under that house built with a window perfect enough to see the skyline
The skyline that the little girl inside would never be a part of
Should never dream of
Just privileged enough to paint pictures with her thoughts
Too scared to feel what could have been
I held my breath when I laid my head on your chest
I was just waiting to exhale
I could not hold you inside me for too long
My words had a hard time fighting with oxygen
This is the safest way to get you out of my system

I don't blame myself for loving you painfully
Don't blame myself for the panther in you that lost it's voice
I blame myself for not loving me
For not speaking up
For not embracing the moment I knew this was not going to work

The way you held my secrets did not set me free
Instead of being mines they are now yours to keep
And you are no longer here with me
And this is not over even though we are
I still see your smile/hear your laugh/and hold you spirit
And I still wonder[...]
6:45pm 7/4/2011

Jodie and Paula 1

I tried to make this a audio, but.. yeh. Tell me what you think; this is a new piece.