Kuroi Kangae
My "Kuroi Kangae" (Dark Thoughts). Exposing the light behind the shadows in my eyes.
april fools
paralyzed with indecision
staring down the barrel directing
my tunnel vision
to the smallest detail in
the biggest dream; serenity.
I blink.
to dispel the liquid disappointment
my subconscious is ringing me dry.
My thoughts are in Denial
swimming backwards, upstream
to it’s beginning and i can’t help but wonder why
you left us by cursing yourself to die like that?
I can’t find the only picture i had of you
Time robbed me of the ability to even develop
a memory of you
I was so young.
too young for it to sting much
but now i’m numb in the places
you should’ve been.
Blank Pages
They say
Our Beginnings are marked
With blank pages until conversation
Spills into the empty spaces
Filling them with every statement
we choose to make
They evaluate our mistakes
Using a sliding scale designed
To highlight our failures more
often than our success.
Too often we suffocate
Waiting to exhale expecting
Our demons to expel themselves
When we never should have invited them in
In the first place.
They say that every
Conversation begins with a lie
Hidden between the lines of
Hello and Goodbye
They thrive
Where only the best kept secrets survive
They say our eyes
aren’t just our eyes
They’re the windows that shed light
On our desires. Requirements that satisfy
Our pride and when we fall
Our denial cushions the dive.
They say
our endings are established by
Individual interpretation,
and maybe my realization of the situation came too late
But,
they say you should never choose commitment
just for commitment’s sake.
When the grievances began to accumulate
Faster than I could keep count
Hidden in all our candid moments,
snap shot accounts of golden framed memories
mounted on the walls,
they aren’t just talking
They’re shouting obscenities.
This vacant room seemed so loud before
Now that the secret’s out
It’s empty…
They say believe half of what you see
And none of what you hear
Sweet nothings clogged my ears
For 2 years
The leading cause of my inner truth decay
Root canals for the soul aren’t guaranteed
To take the pain away.
They say that time will soothe all our aches and
That time costs more than we can afford to waste
But there’s only so many times
I can drown out the sound of her misplaced rage
I almost didn’t hear my heart breaking.
Amidst the altercations escalating,
negative vibrations that felt like the closed fist
She used to decorate my face with unapologetic
I love you’s and baby please stay.
They say
I should’ve seen it coming
the last time I tried to explain
Hindsight is 20/20
But love is blind sometimes anyway
They say…
People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones
Focusing on my sins in place of their own
Their good intentions paved the roads and
Convictions inclined the slope
I hope they know
It’s slippery
Golden stars are social statuses,
Not always indicative of a victory
It was interesting to see what some of
My closest friends think of me
Professing unconditional love one week
Then regard me with infamy
because of their own insecurities
They say,
That it’s better to have loved and lost
Than to never have loved at all
But we never really understand what it
Costs the heart to love until after it falls
Head first into obsessions
Simmering below our surfaces
Waiting to be unearthed from our depths
When we least expect them
Loose lips sink more than ships
I stand here drowning in my own confessional hell
Waiting for this last ship to set sail
Before the truth sinks it too.
A small part of me knew when I met you
That you wouldn’t be like them
Hiding behind mindsets
Trying to fit in was beneath you
And underneath you ran deeper
Than I ever imagined I could go
I used to be so shallow.
So hollow.
Until you filled me
And made me whole.
They say If you love someone
you should let them go
But what am I supposed to do
once I release you?
They always say…
But what do they really know anyway
non-black folks in the “locs” tag
1800-nothing-rhymes-with-hundred:
As always, trying to wiggle your way into every sort of appropriation you can.
You already dominated the “dreads/ dreadlocks” tag. It’s yours now, go ahead and keep it.
But keep yourmessiness out of the manicured area (locs tag).
“Dreadlocks” are what you europeans labeled our natural hair texture when you decided it was dreadful. That’s why we refer to ours as locs.
But I guess you guys just couldn’t let us have that one either. Nope.
(Source: visual-volume)
C…
We think we know our heart’s desires, looking through the scope of inexperienced lenses coating eyes the very color of youth… Each moment impregnated with a different wisdom hinting at the secrets littered through our existence. Want paints life in kaleidoscopic hieroglyphics unlocking meaning and purpose not always given for us to know, but rather, to experience them and grow more or less perfect given the perspective you’re forced to live with… At first anyway… Until the first hint of temptation dulls the senses, enhancing our taste buds to be more sensitive to the savory sweetness of the universe’s gentle coaxing… My desires ebb and flow from the gravitational pull of a crescent moon of a smile under the twilight sparkle of pale green eyes… i’m staring… and my tongue tenses with the need to apologize, even while tied. You stand there with your twilight eyes not expecting a sorry of any kind… Accepting my folly as another lesson worth learning I presented you with a gift as intimate as morning dew holding on to the tips of blades yearning to taste it… To sustain. Coated with this sensation ingraining itself without permission to every moment in and out of your embrace. Realizations licking up my brain stem erasing premature worry and stress caused by the anticipated judgment of others constantly seeking to tame me. Trying to remain free of the crippling restraints of reality in a blacked out box of insanity and force fed thoughts and opinions and views discouraging me to satisfy my Muse’s hunger, but the pangs of starvation rips her patience asunder…
Your resistance… Was futile… Persistence broke down your resolve to maintain that which was perceived as pure. i was Ignorant to this particular touch so until that moment my innocence went uninterrupted. Drunk off nothing but seduction, i encouraged you to touch… to further taint and tarnish my body marking this slightly worn canvas recycled from the bits and pieces of sanity salvaged from love losing its luster. you severed the last ties and connections that tethered me to perceptions made for me to believe I’m wrong for feeling. Clinging to the precept ”Love As Thou Wilt”, while feigning for drops of enlightenment spilt in the presence of an entity of God. Squeezed from fruit ripe with knowledge, awed by the collage of emotion bursting from your lips, there was wisdom hidden in your kiss disproving the theory of Ignorance and Bliss being equals, then love over lust becomes the lesser of two evils. Constantly refilling to restore my soul, recognizing the beauty of a missing piece of a puzzle that was never meant to be whole in this lifetime. Grabbing hold of the broken shards of my reflection with intentions of better interpreting this new form of expression because it’s too complex… I regret next to nothing except expecting expectations to be met without assessing the repercussions of being disappointed by impossible standards, instead of addressing the insecurities that plague me like cancer. But certain questions are better left unanswered, some paths better left untred, curiosity doesn’t always kill the cat but everybody always ends up dead… I love you… And i would never want those words to ever go unsaid or be uttered in vain. Let it be made plain. I love you. I’ll say it again and again… I love you…. I love you… I love you.
Maybe it’s a mistake to trust you so much. But it’s hard to feel suspicious. I promise to pay attention to the minor details, like the heat simmering between skin half an inch apart. How is it that we are so consumed by Fire but we don’t burn? Why do we have to wonder if there’s no sustenance in the answer? Words arent always useful when spoken, and we havent even done so in weeks… but why do we always try to use words to decipher feeling anyway? Shouldn’t we be touching? Connecting? Feeling a fluttering heartbeat can’t get lost in translation. “I love you“‘s are overused and mistaken for obsession. Overzealous attempts of possession does more harm than good. Loving with a closed fist will leave you holding on tighter than you should, lead to broken pieces piercing your palm. Rejection will be a thorn in your side if you dont be careful of the Roses. But arent they beautiful to look at? Why do we have to touch things? Feel things? What happens if we go numb? a bitter reaction to a poisonous love song. I suppose i shouldn’t trust you… But why exactly is trusting you so wrong?
I’ll continue to wander.
The Definition of Suicide
Is it still considered suicide if I
told you that I didn’t recognize
the girl looking back at me in the mirror?
And that it’s been quite some time since
said reflection’s eyes lost their sight,
pupils blown out because they
couldn’t withstand the pressure
of hiding so many secrets behind them…
Lines of worry framed the corners of her mouth,
lips turned down even though she
never seemed to be sure of what
she was ever really frowning for.
You couldn’t see the insecurities,
but she felt them
ripping out of the pores of her skin,
disguised as hair follicles and sweat.
Her clothes were soaked through,
partially from the tears she shed
only during twilight hours,
facing the wall she decorated
with glow in the dark stars,
reminding her of a first kiss
on a summer night
that ended up becoming just another
useless memory to plague her with.
It hurt to be nostalgic…
Under her left sleeve was her
go to hiding spot
where she kept her heart pinned
covering a section of her skin.
Both were riddled with scars,
one from the pressure of needing
to feel anything besides nothing,
the other from being dropped enough times
for the cracks to start bleeding.
She stitched the crevices back together
with the strings of her sanity.
Legally, she wasn’t insane,
but that’s only because she never told anybody
what the voices were saying…
In fact, she would go to great lengths
to try and ignore them herself,
but how could she ignore herself?
When the words she heard in her head
were the truths that somehow neglected to be said.
Her life was a mess of good intentions
misinterpreted by them because of her inability
to get past her own brick wall of emotions.
She could never really explain herself.
So unsure of her own footsteps
she was always looking back
in the direction she came from.
Tempted to run from consciousness,
weighed down by the drug of her
vividly pessimistic fabrications,
that mental space she created just so
she could get away from them…
It…
Whatever and anything,
tripping over her own ignorant bliss.
Running with her eyes closed,
voice trapped inside her notebooks
where she exposed her own demons,
Daydreaming because she couldn’t see
the designs clearly at night.
Writing down the impossible blueprints
given to her one painful life lesson at a time.
She use to be dying to live,
now she just lay here dying…
And I killed her.
But I wouldn’t call it homicide…
More like a necessary execution.
I did it for Beauty. Not murder,
a sacrifice to please my Muse,
my Heart, my God!
They would’ve forsaken me otherwise.
It’s all justifiable. Besides…
she was as good as dead anyway.
Dead weight holding me back from
whatever made the stakes so high.
Goaded by glimpses of paradise
I cut my losses and forced myself to keep climbing.
Vertigo inspired visions of the black abyss
keeps my grip on consciousness tight
lest the darkness confine me.
Trying to escape,
Fighting off the shadows that plague me everyday.
Everyday a bittersweet blessing because even now
I still feel a little bit guilty for doing
what I had to do to survive,
allowing that part of me to die.
She was no longer recognizable,
But I could still feel her pain like it was mine.
Could feel the life spill from her veins
like her heartbeats were mine.
We were so intimately intertwined at one point
that I would almost call it suicide…
But I wouldn’t call it suicide…
Because when I killed that side of me for Beauty…
I didn’t die.
secrets
I wont tell… your secrets…
your secrets, are safe with me…
I could tell that you loved her…
I felt it in every second
of hesitation when
you touched me…
Pulling me close, I
could see her name
written between the nervous
creases in your brow…
as article after article of clothing shed
I noticed her influence
tattooed all over your skin
with ink as permanent
as it was invisible…
out of sight out of mind
trumped by your heart
growing fonder in her absence…
I could tell that you loved her…
but your love for her
was never in question…
Even during the bi-weekly sessions
of your tongue spilling transgressions
Me bed turned into a confessional
your head using my breast
as its pillow…
our heartbeats were never in sync
because yours already shared
a different tempo…
I know…
that as much as you loved her,
there was no room
for another lover…
but who said that
being in love and being monogamous
were ever meant to be synonymous
to each other in the first place?
Wrapped up in the other’s temptation
our lust made blatant
only in the quarantined space
blocked off from the rest
of the population as if
our sins were a contagion…
I was Mary Magdalene listening
to your Hail Mary’s
as I caressed from the top
of your head down to
the tips of your feet…
allowing this mistaken identity.
enabling your lies,
ready to deny that you
were with me…
when your phone would ring…
I became as invisible
as her influence tattooed
with that translucent ink…
I was your undercover freak
turned shrink…
wrapped in lust scented
satin sheets…
listening to the reasons
behind your infidelity.
Allowing you to shed the stress
accompanied with pretending that
you don’t need me
when you leave…
Knowing that next week,
my phone would ring,
and you would again satiate
your addiction to
this temporary feeling.
Never questioning why
it was so appealing,
we practiced the lost art
of sexual healing…
followed by you revealing the
mental scars that had
not one inch of room to
be able to fit another tattoo
of her name on you…
I’d already staked a small claim
in your brain anyway…
which is why our meetings always
transcend physical affection,
to obtain an answer for
your pain, caused by a lack
of a sensual connection…
but since love is blind,
let me provide you with
a visual written in braille,
with sedated stares, and fingers
gently combing through hair.
some sinners never know
when they’re wrong…
but we just
don’t care…
I know that you love her…
and that you also love me…
only as a temporary fantasy…
But this reality has me sworn
to confidentiality…
so…
I will keep…
your secrets…
just think of me as the pages
in your diary…
Happy Birthday
360 days after my
21st birthday,
I began to wonder what
22 years would feel like.
Would the small patches
Of wisdom gained from
The successful continuation of
Life uninterrupted
Cause the wind to blow
Sweeter through the leaves
Of trees,
Shaking ages of permenance
From their limbs?
I wondered if it would
Be as bitter as the
Vodka soaked memories
Awarded by legality and
The desire to numb the sting
Of a double edged reality,
Sharpened by the
Hardened hearts and
Closed minds of those
No longer answering
Love when she calls.
I imagined it might
Taste like the silent anticipation
Of a first kiss that was
Long over due,
Yet still managed to
Be caught at the precise
Moment that would make
It hum perfection into my lungs
Releasing the breath
I was holding in an attempt
To freeze time for the span
Of 3 heart beats…
My dreams were
Kaleidoscopic inquiries outlining
The silhouette of a
Foggy future that with
5 days left in 21 years
Seemed like an impossible
Illusion of grandeur ….
Depicted in the non judgmental
Darkness behind my closed eyes
A 4 pronged fork in the road
Presented itself before me.
Each path predicting success
Or failure with each step tread,
Connecting outcomes that
Made every direction
Both dependent and
Independent of each other’s
Influence…
The choices resonate
With a different chamber
Of my being,
While still maintaining the
Eradic pace of a heart
Mired in uncertainty and
As indecisive and timid as
A compass without gravity…
Intuition as my North Star,
Navigating me through
A tumultuous sea,
Filled with half met
Expectations and a mix
Of meaningful and meaningless
Exchanges between faces, and
Places, and unavoidable
Situations intending to
Either break me,
Or make me great…
At 21 doubt shakes my foundation…
Projecting images of me
Crumbling under the weight
Of obligation…
At 21 im constantly juggling
Peace and confrontation.
Offering up pieces of
Me on white pages
For sanity’s sake…
Temptation licking at my soles
As i walk this barely defined line
Between being ok and KOd
By the fears of what
22 years might or
might not hold for me…
At 22 ill hope that happiness
Comes wrapped in a
Pretty blue bow, preferably
In the form of
Summer nights featuring
More stars than sky…
And bite sized i love you’s
Caught in the crease of
A smile that told no lies…
At 22 years i hope that i realize…
At 22 years i hope that i REAL EYES…
That at 22 years…
Whatever i realize…
never overshadows
The beauty i see in life.
