Broken

Why are you so broken?
Is his spirit still trapped in you?
Did a small part of you like it?
He was your uncle and
Your soul was single until
parts of his body and his
soul crept inside of you.
Why didn't you scream?

Mommy was home & would have
Done anything to end those
Terrifying dreams and those
Soul transfusing realities.
You could have let me know,
Or even gave me fair warning.
My soul, my soul use to be
my own.

It danced happily in my body,
But since you've found home
Between these thighs my
Soul has been broken.
Shattered like bones crushing
Soft ice cream cones.

I noticed, that when I looked
In the mirror, it looked
Unfamiliar to me cause
All I saw was you.
I'd trained myself to never
Look you in the eye when
I lay with you cause you
Could tell me anything.

Tell me you love me &
I would have believed it.
But you could never love
All of me cause now I'm all of you.

You've never been taught the value
Of loving YOU and I guess, neither
Had I.
Now, I'm afraid to cry,
and you have yet to
Jerk a tear.

You'd never allow me to make
Lust back to you, you never
Took your clothes off,
Now I feel ugly.
My soul is tired of walking down
These dark and musty
Streets in Chicago.

Living In a big house I still
Feel homeless. You evicted
My mind & soul when you
First kissed both sets of my
Lips.

They have no home.
All cause you were too broken
And to bitter to stop looking
For the light and find God when
Its dark.

I'm not myself any more,
I'm your broken soul.

Why is your soul broken?

The tells of your chest.

I fell asleep on your chest yesterday.
There I was protected from the world. But unfortunately I wasn't protected from your heart.

There with your heart I was feeling in tune with every beat it made. Until I heard the truths your lips would NEVER dare to speak. And yesterday was the day I found out you've always been lying to me.

But I'm not mad. You're a good lier, you were good enough to talk me out my panties. call it pantie talk, you mastered it. Should have taught a class on it.

But remember this, You will never hold the power of knocking me off my stiletto thrown and reducing me down to your skank and your whore.

I've been to gracious in efforts to say in your good graces and I will not lay with your foot on my neck while you reach for what I'm not sure of being my heart or my breast.

It's about time I get this shit off my chest. So just know, the lips you talk down on me with, The lips you use to say you DON'T love me with, are those same lips you ate my virginity with.

And whether its on your tooth brush or in your hands, you'll always have the best part of me for eternity.

And nice try with replacing me, every girl after me looks JUST LIKE ME and thats a sure sine that You'll NEVER get over me. Read between your own damn lines if you're not human enough to read the facial features.

You've ruined me. Its almost my fault because I keep giving myself to you, but maybe just maybe you'd be curios how wonderful it would feel to love me back.

And maybe I should have listened to my mother when she said Sex isn't just physical....Its emotional too.

Or maybe you should have listened to your mother when she said a silent mouth speaks a loud heart.

I fell asleep on your chest yesterday. And I got in tune with myself yesterday.

God Read's Poetry

My ear buds blast stories of guns & glory. And my shoe strings are double dutch ropes waiting for me to jump about
35, 40, 45, 50, 55, 60 of your minds into this world I call poetry.

Tap your wrist and inject my stanzas into your blood streams, just like this heroin you'll never come down from this.

But trust me, this is something like the weekend; you'll want to be high for this. So inhale my flow and get high off this.

My neighborhood is infested with gangs ad rivals that get bible scriptures tattooed onto their inner thighs, but would never dare to live by the saying "You reap what you sow"

Then act all surprised when their nose down to the concrete with bullets blasting their backs like they're the sound tracks to our lives.

Then they don't understand why educated mother fuckers don't come back to the hood. It's cause we're tired of listening to the same old tracks.
If it ain't old Lenny Kravitz eight-Tracks ain't no need to play the crap back.

From my little girl eyes you were never ready to be jumped into this gang. So instead of writing poetry you pulled up your hoody, rolled deep with your homies to the hood CLIK CLACK, ready to kill a Nigga.

And you got the audacity to get mad when the KKK pull up they hoods ready to kill a Nigga.

You reap what you sow right?

Now, this is a life you can't just tap out of. Poetry is the urge to do good things.

Poetry can make a grown man feel like a kid again.

Poetry can redefine an entire being.

So when I say I'm going to "get high" tonight, I mean I'm going to make the edges of pages curl, I'm going to make my ink pen feel like its sinning because its lusting for the lines of my notebook.

These lines don't lie for NOBODY.

Every day I inject my blood stream with words that whisper in Jesus ear asking for second chances like thieves and murders of men that hung on two crosses beside him.

"Will you remember me when you get to your kingdom?"

You better hope that Gods ear buds don't blast loud stories of guns & glory, too loud to hear your prayers.

Much like yours were when he asked you did you accept him into your life. Instead you should have written poetry.

Bet you didn't know, God reads poetry.

Rudely made me love you.

You filled my house
with your aroma
& made me high off you.
I know you've never been
The type to disturb anyone,
But you've rudely
made me fall in love with you.

You've stolen my space
Trapping me between your
Heart & your arms.
You've threatened to hold
Me hostage with a kiss &
You made me want to stay
at the flash of your smile.

Your insecurities made me
Love you. You never loved
The wrinkles next to your mouth,
Or the cup size of your
Breast, but I'm in
Love with you.

I've held your hand as you
Slept on my tummy late at
Night. Your fingers lock
Perfectly in mine like the
Laughs of thieves walking in
The night. You've never
Treated yourself right, but
It's you I've desired
to stay true to.

You have the only
laugh that could be the
punch line of all my jokes.
You've never loved your eyes
But what if I told you
That if we could I'd
Want our daughter
to look like you.

You resemble the Queens
That dripped in gold, and
Got their feet bowed to,
I'd gladly bow to you.
You may not be God, but
I'll bow to you like thieves asking
God forgiveness on crosses.
If anyone ever dared to cross
Us we'd be the last
street they're crossing.

Our hearts cross like
Little girl's pony tails, and
French braids.
Like white people & french
Maids. I believe
I was made to french
kiss every insecurity away
From your
Lips Like Lucifer Last Lashed
Your Lips with Lies
About yourself.

Your stretch marks and
Thighs give your eyes
something to cry about.
But please believe me
baby you are Beautiful.

Your aroma rudely
Barged into my bedroom,
made love to my Bedsheets
And I called it sleeping with you
For hours.

You rudely made me
Love you, and I liked it.

Queen or queen?

It feels kind of like I'm always picking my life up off my bed room floor
Forcing myself to give a fuck
Every day.

My past is hard
To erase when I live in a hood when the color of your hood can either mean your a blood

Ready to draw blood from the sound off of your trigger.
Or maybe you're a Crip,

Getting ready to cripple to the
Dreams a mother had for
Her son before you jumped him
Into your gang.

He didn't choose the streets he said,
The streets chose him.

Much like how America chose us
To be the Kings & Queens of
Our today;

instead we dress like Raped prostitutes, not worthy to have our feet bowed to because

our minds aren't strong enough to withstand the values of the capital "Q" that holds a Queens crown.

Kings are who we're suppose to be
Dreaming of saving us, not little server boys.

Girls like me have become accustomed to life's Off the floor apologies from our

Father's that we've learned
To just fold those emotions
And put them in our pockets
Like old skool "Do you like me? Check Yes or No" notes before we had Sex-messages & fuck books.

Before we all "Started from the bottom"

we all lived at the tops of all things great like our God's heart.
We never stopped to praise
Him instead we just appraise
Him, checking for his value & what
We can get out of using
Him today.

There is no way I can tell my
Daughter that Mommy lived
By picking her life up off her
Bed room floor everyday.

So, I'd feel like a fool
Allowing my child to clime into
Bed every night not knowing
That if she ever found her
Mirror to be unfamiliar to her
That she don't have to get
Validation from some boy's sheets. She can just ask mommy
About the sound of
Her first heart beats.

Beats the sounded like
Finger tips tripping over
drums when servants bowed
At a Queen's feet.
She'll know, she's worthy of
Being loved without taking her
Clothes off, or having to
Shadow her face with pounds
Of make up.

Rihanna called it Cake. But this you can't eat it.
You call me conceded, but I just refuse
To be another girl that's
Defeated.

So, I continue to pick
myself up off of my
bed room floor, dust me off &
Put on my crown because a Queen
Is never to be seen down.

De'ja Vu

I think this may be De'ja Vu 'Cause
This looks like nothing new.
But your something new to
Me so please enlighten me on
Just who you be.

Could you be just a computer screen and a text message i've
Falling in LIKE with? Or could
You be the artist I've always dreamt of dating?

You're Someone who could do more Than express their understanding Via words. U can capture the
Beauty in me when I think I
Have non. My stretch marks
You'll love them.
My kind heart you'll own that.

But this looks like De'ja Vu
So I'm not going to easily
Let you through. I refuse
To like a computer screen I
Want this like to be for you.

Just like I bleed when you bleed
We bleed passion,
So any of our cuts on our hearts
Don't hurt so bad.

Art is the road map of our
Lives and our mother's
Are the tightest things we hold on
to. Hold tight kind of like a baby & its blanket.

We can make it...if we both try.
This is De'ja Vu this like feels like nothing new. I'd hate for this to sound creepy, but De'ja I kind of like YOU!!!

Apologies of Sins

You rub my hearts bruises with
tear drop scented lotion
and the other scent you force out of your mouth in apologies.
Accented with dead ends and
Empty tunnels with serpents
hollering for hallelujah searching for
Forgiveness in tear ducts made into oceans & children searching for
Love in hollow the chest Of their Father & some cases their mother.

Someday's I'm afraid to sin because I'm afraid I may never wake up to get on my knees and repent again.
Could my Grand-Mother have wanted me to avoid this fear so; she told me to pray
at night?

Could my hearts bruises be the product of a Full house but a empty home? Could the cost of my tears be deducted at the registration of your face at my eye lids cash register,
With your beauty; no change is given.

No need to make empty promises with my mouth when my arms stretch marks symbolize generations of truths, love stories & and heart rejected apologies
Because the only reason my generation offers apologies is
Because we're sorry we got caught
acting less than the kings &
Queens our shipped Grand-Parents birthed our parents to make us out to be.

To be or, not to be
Maybe by tear drop lotion bruised heart
Got accented with a bit to many apologies.
You still forcing apologies out of your mouth only making
My arms stretch marks scream like serpents in hollow tunnels, much like how I scream every night
Looking for the warmest place of my fathers heart.

Eventually I get tired of looking. And realize that much like this weather, its always cold.

Often forgetting to forgive I'm
Always quick to never give a fuck,
But some how I always let an apology slip away from my lips.
Could these apologies be seeking's
For forgiveness, but permission slips to sin again.

I'm smelling a familiar scent again.
It smells like tear drop scented lotion, but I often mistake it for the smell u smelled like on our first date.
You smelled like heart eating zombies casting Love Spells, forbidding that the love of two women should be called marriage, but a civil union.

I didn't ask to civil union you, I asked to marry you. So until America can find it in them to dig into their big bellies & dust off us dusty wools heads we'll still me Niggas asking for the right to marry.

Mary had a baby and named that baby Jesus, but Jesus had a father & we've taken his father out of our class rooms.

So this generation knows nothing more than bruised hearted apologies. Lathered in tear drop scented lotions, tear drop scented lotions are these serpents potions,
Those love spells, cause my tear ducts to make oceans.

For the love of you

I want you to, wrap me in your arms, whisper in my ear & hold me closer to your heart than a Bible.

I want you to trace your fingers around my waist, let your lips discover the lobe of my ear &
Your breath sway across my neck making the hairs dance like
Daisies in the summer time.

Oh, you're so fine. Can you have enough faith in me that you'd swear you could walk on water only if you were God?
Can I exhale my dirty little secretes into a mason jar, quickly close the cap & hand it to you so that
When you go home at night, you uncap my secrets & let my confessions of my love for
You dance like serpents in a ball room?

Is it alright for me to lust for you?
I can't let my lust for you to fall out of my mouth & into your lap because then, I'll have you writing me love poems as invitations into your bed room. At noon,
At noon I'll gaze upon your face & just watch as the city sky line sets into the folds of your fist & the sun into the well make-up edited folds of your eye lids.

I live like Greek gods on mount Olympus as long as I'm folded neatly into the kingdom of your arms, I'll be okay.

Can you study my palms better than your Bible?
Or can your lips discover my ear lobes & whisper how much you love me giving a chance or two that non of it may be true, but I'd gratefully for the love of you be lied to.

Creator of Laugh Lines.

These tears feel like their doing nothing more
than racing to see which one can fill the curves of
my laugh lines the fastest.

These tears taste like
God to kids that have
Forgotten what their reflection in a glass looks like.
And these tears have danced in the cracks of my eyelids so long
That I've forgotten what sleep
Feels like.

Tears.
Tears not only fall
from the faces of babies,
They fall from the faces of
Defeated mothers as well.
Tears, are thought to only praise dance in your eyes, reflecting
Sorrow;
but I know,
They have the ability to wrap
Around your vocal cords,
Stretch out your heart strings
And hold ya' heart hostage.

Tears can fall when
you've found what
your definition of true love
Really is. And I've had tears fall
When She has wrapped me
Up in pure ecstasy. She, is the
Forbidden tear jerkier.

Love has lied before too.
Seems to me that love
Has forgotten that it
Was pulled out of the depths
Of mommy's closet.

Tears fall faster than
the over 400
Soldiers that died in Iraq
And the close to 900 Soldiers
That died in Chicago these past years.

So you can't tell me
I'm weak when I cry because
There is strength
In my tears.
You try creating laugh
Lines for tears to race
Through. You created
these laugh lines
for my tears
to race though.
You're the creator of
The Laugh lines my tears
Have raced through.

Jazz Inspired.

Visit AND FOLLOW my Tumblr AT
www.jazzinspired.tumblr.com