Not To Be said

Not every thing is suppose to be said. Just because they are words don't automatically make them spoken words. The difference between poetry & fiction, is the truth thats put in it.
It seems to me, "love" is never suppose to be written in ink because it never last forever. I guess this America is the thank you Lincoln gets for releasing the slaves out to the KKK. He, didn't always tell the truth & he secretly didn't like "Niggaz," so he spoke words that should never be spoken like,
"Build this house, we'll give whites the credit & call it the white house even though it was built by blacks."

My little sisters eyes speak, speakable words that have gone unspoken for centuries. She, like our house slave Grand Mothers was always told

"speak when spoken too. Niggaz are made to be maids & be made mothers"

who'd soon be stripped of their babies if it looked like that colored man in that field.
So my sister always stayed quite. She looked like that colored man we called our Grand Daddy 'cause our daddy looked just like me. Light. She was stripped of her mother, and her father. The only difference her & I is the pigment in our skin. She reeks of no less beauty than I, even if our dad has told us other wise.
Daddy, Not everything's suppose to be said. Just because what's in your mind are words don't automatically make them spoken words.
Sssssh!
I had to remind myself to hold back the passion in this tung lashing I'm ready to give this bitch today. I told myself I'd chew you up & spit you out, then my insides told myself that,

"not all words are spoken words so this verbal ass woopen you ready to give ain't even worth giving."
Like a magic trick, tricks can be pulled out of any niggaz ass.
I'll pass. This America has laid down tracks that made baby girls think it was ok to make their butts clap before they can stop pissing in the bed.
"Popped a molly now I'm sweating!"

Is all the trap house boys be yelling, yet they not man enough to spit on a stick to see if their sperm has increased the nations population.
Shame. Its a shame that people don't know that the difference between poetry & fiction is the truth thats put in it.

Not every thing is suppose to be said. Just because they are words don't automatically make them spoken words. The difference between poetry & fiction, is the truth thats put in it.

Pedophile eyes

You said you'd always protect me so why are you touching me like this?
I seen you undress me from across the room with your eyes & already then I had felt raped.
Trying to cover my grown woman's body from your pedophile eyes, I still had a little child's mind.
Momma always said to run when I feel in danger, but your presence held me hostage. My heart said go but my feet wouldn't move. You took advantage of me.
When everybody went to bed you pretended to just be getting a glass of water, turning on the faucet then turning the knob to by bed room door. Some how you managed to muffle my screams from my mothers ears, you raped me that night.
Sticking your fingers between my thighs, you said it always hurts the 1st try so try not to cry, you was old enough to be my father.
Thank God you wasn't my real father, you were only a Step father & now a long distance memory.
Screams fill my bed room walls like the vibration of loud speakers. I wonder why mother left me unattended with you.
And why didn't she see the blood stains in my underwear or did she even care to acknowledge the fact that they are there!
Part of me wants to blame my momma, but how can i blame her when she's still trying to figure out how to tell my Grandmother what My grandfather did to her.
I'd be a fool to run to her.
You said you'd never do anything to hurt me so why are you touching me like this. I'm only 14 & my heart can't take another scare.
You turn the knob to my bed room & in my stomach I become scared.

America's battle field

You don't have money to buy pens & paper. But you take away the text books & replace them with computers. No wonder why when you ask kids today whats the best thing to happen to them they say FaceBook instead of God. We took God out of the class rooms & replaced him with a few stripes & 50 stars & never looked back to see the battle field we made of our selves. We're gone & probably never coming back.
You can never snap back to having pride in you chest & believing God is always at his best when your god is the creator of air Max & snap backs.
You need to snap back into what is true. You need to snap back into you.
You think its kool to sing about "popping Molly's" & starting to sweating, but you have no idea you'll do more than sweat. You'll die looking to be cool when you'll only die with the credits of being trenadad's 1st, 2nd or 3rd fool.
Being High ain't cool. Now being in school is cool cause you'll have the opportunity to be the puppeteer & not the puppet. You are being made the rap games fool.
And I partly want to blame the schools cause their allowing these fools to be fools in school instead of making them into honest young men & women, they instead frown their noses up & say i'll let your home deal with it but did they forget, it takes a village to raise a child so where are the village people?
Momma, momma laid her head in her hands cause she ain't know what to do she say "I want to blame you father"
but momma, my daddy is like God, I never seen him but I know he exist.
He popped a few Molly's too, stared sweating & left his marks on my back he did much more than sweat.
You don't have pen & paper, but you take away our text books & replace them with computers. Then you wonder why when you ask kids today whats the best thing to happen to them they say FaceBook instead of God!

Drop The Drag!

Cop car lights, loud sirens, my life can be over.
Think quick, do I want to be like Cleo in set it off & drive through the bullets?
Or do I want to be as normal as possible & just pull over cause i'm already a drag Queen.
Uuuum, i'll choose to pull over. I am much to fierce to die in this war-paint I call Make-up.
"Step out of the car sir."
"You didn't tell me why you're pulling me over officer."
"Sir, why i'm pulling you over ain't important, now step out the car & let me search that ass."
"How do you know I'm a Sir? I'm Clearly in woman's clothing."
"Just step out of the freaking car you freaking Queer! I MEAN Queen."
"You have the right to remain silent so shut yo' ass up."
There I was, in broad day light, full drag, getting arrested.
Any Queens worse dream, i had been chosen by this crappy law system we call Justice to undress in a room full of Queer hating, Queen beating thug life men. I too was then made again a man.
"Get all that Clown-Pain off yo' face" the guard said.
She was asking me to scrub away the only identity I knew to claim as my own.
Hair & Paint makes a man what he ain't.
I am now a man again!
Not by choice but by force.
Through stereotypical arrest, hand cuffs colder than the air that hits the blood after that blades first slice to my wrist I, had bones colder than ice that day.
Palms discovering stutters faster than the sweat from the Molly popping discovered my face.
I developed ARThritis in my eyes that day. Finding it hard to see my self face to face, I had to discover the ART in ARThritis.
Transparently painting my face with imaginary war paint. I using snap shots of photos in my brain I had taken of RuPaul the night before I was barley read my Miranda rights.
I had not taken my Hormones in 6weeks, state pin stripped me of my identity.
Half grown breast, my cell mate didn't care.
He violently loved on me anyway. I, closing my eyes & sometimes looking the other way, I would choose to be a Woman any day.
Maybe the Women's jail isn't as populated with booty hole rapist.
And guys named Big Sall who smelled of a tall glass of that Chocolate security guard the eyed me in the shower trying to puzzle together my lady parts & delete my man parts from his brain.
The day I got arrested was the worst day of my drag Queens life. But inside of me I dropped the drag & held up the Queen higher than Simba in the lion king.
I birthed a better Queen.

By January Jones Via Twitter

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I feel like a sucker

I feel like a sucker, you saw me cry today. I promised myself I would never allow you to see my face with out wearing my strength, but I guess I failed at that today.
Don't ask me all these damn questions like: -Why you sad?
-who did this to you?
-Can I wipe tears off your face?
Because I won't have the fucking correct answers. Yes, I guess you can wipe my face. I don't know why i'm sad & no one did this, well I don't think anyone did this to me.
I just woke up today with tears on my face, shivers in my palms and my mouth call out your name.
I feel like a sucker today. I said I'd never cry over the same thing twice, but I guess the devil decided to make a liar out of me & give me that same bad dreams from 6weeks ago.
I didn't paint on a coat of strength today, I feel like a sucker today.

I am a poem, my title is Not Sorry

I am a poem, my title is not sorry.
My title is not sorry because it doesn't apologize & still feels no sorrow in its heart.
My title is not sorry because she isn't sorry for having extra curves in her hips & extra food on her plate.
My title is not sorry.
I am a poem & my title is not sorry.
It isn't sorry for succeeding, it isn't sorry for crying real tears.
And it isn't sorry for always being real with herself.
"What you see is what you get" is what my poems always say.
So, my poem is a thousand & one souls standing on front lines naked in front of God.
Willing to be emptied of herself to be filled with him. My poem is not sorry.
She isn't sorry for finding home wrapped in another woman's arms, my poem is not sorry for not being pleasing to ones eyes or in this case ears.
My poem forgets to pray at dinner time & sometimes questions her faith, but never loosens her grip on the Lord's hands that she possibly falls.
This poem has palms that discovers stutters when ever her mother screams her name.
This poem has a mother that may not make it to see tomorrow, but she won't feel sorrow because she isn't sorry for loving her mother to her very last day.
This poem wasn't connected by the stars or kidnapped from the mountains of Zion.
My poem came from eyes looking like Cracking Levy's.
This poem came from our Slave shipped, beaten & raped Grandmother's.
They wrote this poem in my palms & said
"Hold these words close to your heart because these words every woman woman will remember when she's forced to remain silent."
This poem is the dirty little secrets churches scream about.
I am a poem and my title is not sorry.
Why should I ever apologize? I'm not sorry.