Because of the black dude I so loved.

You want to know what's deadly? Not being sure if he's just playing with your pussy or your heart because they both feel good. 

They both feel loved and are bursting with great things, but the excitement goes down when he leaves. What's deadly is not dying to your flesh every time it wants to jump away from God and count to 3. 

1. It wants to know about the D that described love and sex so similarly they sound the same when they're written about. 

2. A flesh that isn't too quick to dance in distress, but will dance in this dress for one guy or two or 

3. This is the same flesh he destroys, but beat me into loving her unconditionally because his last bitch wasn't a damn thing like me-- she wasn't secure. 

Didn't approach the throne meekly, was bold and rambunctious in her approach. Wasn't much Lord in her talk much like when he was absent in my undressing at the park.

Flesh clashed with skin and formed goose bumps on my inner thighs, everything but my eyes he held with pride. Never knew what life I spoke about in my blink- never cared to see I was crying at night. 

He asked me to open up, so I parted my legs and spread the word all over his alter... That isn't Exactly what he meant, but that's what all the other dudes wanted. That's what I get for thinking he was just another Nigga. #LateNightPoetry

The Grendel in Adam

Your eyes cock to the side as I sit beside you. 

This bus rolls parallel to some city streets but, I can smell the Grendel of you in my sheets. 

You've never stepped foot in my house 

yet your breath is 1/2 as thick as God you still consist of dirt and beast. I can see the the ash in the folds of your hands. 

Your palms haven't matured yet, there is still work to do. You have to repair us before we are broken because I came from your rib and have been breaking my back since a child to make half you and half of my momma proud... I don't even know your name 

But I promise to not let my words be as beastly as your presence you sky scraper of a man, you stand towering over my 5 foot 3 frame like the liberty America's statue didn't depict as a black couple 

We are the start of this got damn planet because God started in the dark. I am yours Adam, or Grendel or... 

 I don't even know which to call you because you're every man I've ever imagined and wished to claw my honesty into their eye lids because they've only seen me as an evil bitch and didn't bother to ask why my face was so ocean in the morning time. Not even the Pacific is specific enough to fill the voids I reveal in my voice. 

My heart breaks before the day. I've watched you rise and set and rise and set you morning, I mean dynasty of a fellow.

And to think... When we were younger I wouldn't even give you a hello. And now I'm willing to thrust my heart in places it may not even want to fit. I apologize, Grendel, do you forgive me? Adam do you forgive me? 

Obsessed with the cold

Remember back when you was mad obsessed with me? Couldn't take your eyes off even sang and wrote poems for me. Now you acting different and I admittedly blame myself because I gave you a sniff of the ill nana and you was never worthy of a kiss. You are a clown, we can tell by your attire you've been real tired lately. Explanation as to why the hell you slept on me. Who gone write your songs now? You could never really sing because the weight of your jaws got in the way and my weight blurred your vision. Said I was too much to handle, yet you held onto my love handles like you loved it. Like you loved me. Like you had sworn to God to protect my virginity. I left for Virginia that spring break. Took up life on the hill for a week just to discover my power. I left it in your eye lids the night you ruled me fool. You no longer laugh at my jokes because they're all about you now. I've been the punch line for way too long. Remember when I said I'd never write a break up poem about you? Well, I kept my word-- you never were my boyfriend. Only a kid that played pretend in knitted hats and gloves that smelled of love. I was your obsession for a while... Then you left me out in the cold. 

Unedited--Truths

Jazzmine, 

   One day you'll be tired of being broken hearted and you will tell your mother exactly what's been on your heart. Each time you two talk you part your lips to tell the truth but, her feelings and tears get in the way. You have been fooled for way too long. People may have hurt her but, that isn't your fault. Don't take her shit laying down. She needs to know how terrible her shit stinks. Will this push her even more into her life style? No one knows but, if it does she chose to allow it. You are only responsible for what you feel and do. Not their emotions and actions. You are cut, dry honest with everyone on this earth except your mother. You can't be this honest with her with out being disrespectful and normally you say fuck what is and isn't respected when it comes to the truth so what's stopping you in this situation? You know she didn't want a second child and you happened to be just that... The second child and she treats you just like that. You get treatment your brother knows nothing of. You and your emotions are down right disrespected in that house. In one of her ears and flys right out of her ass, she don't get a fuck about you and that is the sad truth that you must live with. Dance in it! Accept it. But you will not live with it in your heart. Pray for her for she knows not what she does but what others have done to her. She has the "they hit me first" syndrome and it's sick, yes but you can't change that. You can't beat it out of her no matter how bad you want too, don't fight unless you have too. Do not let her take the best of your kindness. This here life you live is a test like none other. Can you pass it? You're almost done baby girl. She's afraid you won't come back once you leave for college and she fears this because she knows good and well how awful she has been to you. Once you're gone the men will come in by the dozens and you can't do a thing about it and it's okay... She's an adult. STOP TRYING TO GET HER TO GET YOU! She's not suppose to and she doesn't even want to. She's praises the ground your brother walks on and you will never receive this love and it's okay... Love yourself enough to not even miss her when she leaves you alone. Love God enough that he fills all voids in you from head to toe. Stay faithful to him all the days you live. You're hurt and no one understands you but, it! Is! Okay!!!!! You seek that mother in other women and you haven't found her yet, maybe you just have to sit in the fact that she aren't suppose to have a mother so you can feel all the emotions of a motherless child... When you have kids you will love them fearlessly and with every bone in your body. Nobody, not even GOD himself will be able to shake this love you will have for them. Love them like you've never been loved... Love them so much it'll scare you. Love kills hate any day so love your mother too... Sure she has hurt you but, it's okay. Kill her hate with love and love you, her, your brother, your father. All of them that hurt you most love them until that have no reason to hate you. Love them in secrete if need be. No one knows where you will end up in the next year. I just want you to be happy. More happy than you are right now writing this on your way to work. Never be evil... Women before you have traveled these roads to make God proud to write your name. You will be a lady of great word on day. Live up to this. You have big shoes to fill. 

Thick lip and beast

Tonight got to me... It was good even though he was bad to me. Poetry filled the souls in me that were alone for ages, ages younger than you. These couldn't be stone even if I were the rock. I like to think I'm closer to pac, or he to me whichever come later. I am leather. Plump like the brown thick lip beast they were afraid of back then and you'd be a fool to think not today. I didn't die yesterday, still can't speak for today because I'm not home yet. Haven't double dipped in your eyes because you never removed them for me in the first place. I... Am parts of the city they never warned you about. 

Royalty

The clinking of spoons on bowls. I feel the vibrations of a fancy history on my fingertips. 

I see black butler's dancing from joy that finally this job is a choice.

 I can taste victory in my throat and God slithers into the cracks of my teeth. I’ve ingested his words and let his conviction beat me into dance. 

I step to no tune.

 Make music with my body I don’t hear a damn thing when I taste caramel on the roof tops of my mouth. 

Love is rock and roll in the shower, do you ever go as wild as fireflies in mason jars on stormy nights? 

On those nights, I am a song and I vibrate your bed railings and rock you to sleep when lovers and sex can not make your legs shake like noodles. 

I feel the waves from fancy spoons again. 

This time they’re in my stomach. 

This time they’re making a mother out of me. 

This time God isn’t so sad. 

My feet planted on grass that grew from dirt. This love clings to me like meat and potatoes do to fancy China when it isn’t familiar. 

It is lightning fast. Moves quickest in the mountains of sand my ex-boyfriend’s head is buried in. 

Feel the wind brush your face like fox fur. We are the silver and gold spoons of Africa. 

The queens we call mother and all the times she’d not eaten to feed us, that is royalty shattering into glass and repaired with ice cold water and a bandage. 

Her eyes could always fill the voids and direct the paths of her babies. I find my feet vibrating in sync with mama's every blink.

I’d walk on fire mountains and chase thunderstorms just so I could rescue her thunder bolt and allow her to remain my Zeus. 

I feel the royalty smack my knee caps and push me in the right direction. I clung to the spoons and bowls whenever I was away from home because home is where royalty lived. 

Home is where my secretes live. 

Home is where my momma lives. 

I wrote this poem during my attendance at the 2015 Session 1 of the Iowa Young Writers' Studio. I'm forever grateful to have been chosen to attend such a highly ranked writing camp and the friendships I've made are priceless. All thanks to the University of Iowa. 

No room

There are some days I sit at poetries 

Table and wonder if I am still welcomed. Wasn't offered a hello or a microphone, I can speak all I want... 

That doesn't mean they're willing to hear me. I can 

Take as many dramatic pauses and breaths as I please, 

That doesn't mean poetry accepts me. Nor does it 

Tell me if it ever did, I probably was like 

That annoying friend we've all had but didn't dump because 

They were just too good to us. And poetry truthfully was like love. We were in love with it but decided to dump it when it stopped giving us what we needed, or better yet what we expected. I once sat near 

The 

Thrown of poetry when it probably should have been God I had placed 

There because after all, poems are words from men and women who've been jaded. Poetry no longer sparks emotion for me because everyone is just 

Too damn deep with 

The shit, not every poet is as sad as your, our, I mean my life is. But not once did I stop 

To 

Think about poetry not accepting me because I refused to soak in 

That sadness, 

That salt of 

The cheek like substance. I was receptive 

To 

That blocking, 

That blowing 

That low blow of writers block. Never 

Too deep with 

The shit I just spoke loud enough 

To where I wouldn't need a microphone. I demanded poetry 

To look me straight in 

The face and make room for me, even if all 

The elbows, egos and pencils were 

Taking up space.