shut the door

and i'm still not able to listen to brian mcknight sing "one last cry" to the end.

so i substitute the playlist for one with nothing but sade.

and although her shxt is sad - none of those songs tell our story.

and as soon as i hear "it's only love that gets you through" i put it on song repeat for three goes around the merry-go-round - and all is well.

this is that part of life men fear.

i've lost my calf love on some road to fresh sneakers and low caesars.

college found her to be nothing but a memory in old journals and random get-ups over the school vacations.

but you were going to the be that love i married.

when we both seemed to disappear behind state lines and new lives - i moved on.

i found the warm dew of others to be equally comforting and their smiles to be just as bright.

a couple - even more so.

and the distance lessened - and we became too comfortable with the once new lives - and needed reassurance in the front seat of your suv.

i could have married you right there.

the music stopped when your door open and we needed to question what we did.

i'm still muslim.

you're still christian.

i'm not christian.

and i'm left to admit - i've never questioned any of it.

and i still don't want to.

i just want you to shut the door and allow your hands to find the back of my head.

i want out eyelashes to touch.

i just want you to shut the door so the music can play.

and now that i'm looking at the time and this half empty glass of vodka and naked juice i don't know what to tell you.

i just want you to shut the door - and let me explain to you why we don't look like what we've been through - together

and i promise - the music will play again.

this man i am becoming

i have fallen out of love with the man i am becoming.

he seems a bit too serious.

he's too focused on his goals and not focused enough on shiny things and tattoos.

well, shiny things have never really caught my attention unless we count the bangles marinda james (now smith) wore everyday since kindergarten. i loved her first. she taught me to color in the lines.

the man i am becoming seems to not tolerate too much, which is cool - but it's also getting rid of some of the dead weight (bad friends) that hung around.

there is no room for idiots, real-life assholes, and the incompetent.

-----

i heard a 25 year old bragging on his latest number bump.

he had gone from 75 to 81. not a bad leap in a matter of 3 days - but you're 25.

at 21 & sometimes 22 you're allowed the foolish mistakes and bad decisions that have to happen to shape paradigms and shxt of the sort - but at 25 you are not.

your biggest fxck up should not have a name and a ponytail.

there should be no left over goals tucked under your bed with your box of porn and dirty plates.

the house you live in should not be shared with your folks - and your name should not have to be written on the orange juice.

you are grown.

and then there is:

the economy is bad

student loans are expensive

mom needs help paying bills

trying to get your credit together

just graduated college and need to get on the good foot

this is the point where i sigh and not go into any of the bullshit excuses listed above.

-----

the man i am becoming - like the man i was - is still the most important thing.

he is to be loved with the mind - not the heart.

neither of us have quite learned a concrete method to break the mind (without sacrificing self).

so it's safer.

the heart is easily broken after the promises and expectations. they all seem to shatter.

they subscribe to chinua (smart people know what i'm talking about).

-----

the man i am becoming is closing this blog with the following:

there are no lucky people on this planet on which i live - just hustlers.

the last poem for you

i got one last train poem for you

i suggest we kiss hard under ads that ain't got shit to do with us

smile at people speaking curses under their breath

this ain't where we supposed to be

we should be giggling in our sleep

and smiling when we wake up to pee

we need to be in love late at night

in case the sun decides to not attend the party

8.24.09

is.it.a.crime?

you picked a fine time to leave me, lucille

so the picture you painted one christmas is no longer around
and neither are the socks you brought one birthday trying to be funny - but i wore them anyway because the old ones had holes

i miss the socks with the holes

i sat at a coffee shop today writing pieces of a script that began much like we did
a bit confusing - but simple nonetheless

coffee shops don't do it for me anymore
and i've been trying to get you to call me for the past month
word on the horn is you're playing house with your ex boyfriend

'but you don't get your dude back like that'

my number hasn't changed
it's been turned off a few times thanks to tmobile's fuck ups
but the number is still the same
and you haven't called me

you picked a fine time to leave me lucille

you can't even look me in the face anymore
i've started drinking again - drinking again
bottles of vodka and barefoot moscato

whoever is standing downwind of me is wearing chance perfume and drinking espresso
i'm sorry if the train of thought here gets derailed every so often
i'm not stable

there was confusion with that last letter you left
"don't let him take me. don't let him handle me and drive me mad"
there was something very gershwin about it.
something very porgy and bess about it

and the maxwell album is good but it will never beat out urban hang suite

'lead me on girl if you want
take my heart and my love
take of me all that you want
and if there's a thing that you need
i'd give you the breath that i breath
and if ever you yearn for the love in me
whenever whereever whatever
baby'

we practiced conceiving children to that song
hoping for at least one boy

your facebook status changed to 'married to' some clown
and i've been trying to get you to call for the past month

you hate me now because he can't live up to his potential no matter how hard he tries

you can't look me in the face because i remind you of a life that can no longer happen for you.
i remind you of that time you were happiest about your weight loss - and you said you'd never gain weight with me because you only gained weight when you were depressed.

you're mad at me because you're at your heaviest.

you picked a fine time to leave me, lucille

this may come as some surprise
but - i miss you
is it a crime that i still want you
and i want you to want me too?
you took his love
but it doesn't feel like mine

and i've been trying to get you to call me for a month

surely you want me back
i still want you
and i want you to want me too

i still love you!

i can't give you more that
surely you want me back.

you picked a fine time to leave me, lucille

i-need-my-heart

i need my heart
(for barack & michelle)

sometimes it's not all politics
sometimes when it's late i want to hold your hand and cross streets for the hell of it
i want to put the kids to bed and put marsalis on the record player we brought together in college
then dance to the sound of crickets when the record skips
between debates i want to argue about the perfume you wore on our second date
and laugh about the letters written from passenger seats watching white lines fly by
i want to cry in front of you now
i want to struggle hard with you as though we may not survive the life of the moon
then wake up smiling at our progress as we run to the sun
hand in hand i want to hold down a family
hand in hand i want to uphold the people
and teach our daughters the way of the block
they way of the land is whichever way we choose to walk
i want the way to my heart to be through you
so to you i give it
it's not all politics
sometimes it's just us
sometimes i can't handle the distance
so i walk a few miles to lessen it
sometimes i can't handle the pressure
so i need you to tell me to stop stressing it
i need you
i need you to be no more than fingertip's reach when i get the urge to grab you
align the freckles in our eyes and wait for our souls to do whatever it is they do
i want to stand on stages before millions to tell the world about this
i want to stand on a front porch and tell you about this
nothing political about it
just an exchange of us when we kiss
and we have this moment
there are no words
and the politics have subsided
and i need my heart

stay.home

sometimes at 3am i want to call you - i get lonely

i wrote:

had you asked me to stay i would have burned the shoes i packed

and saved myself the tears i left behind on the crossword puzzle i as unable to complete in the airline magazine.

you never asked me to stay.

you sat on the edge of the bed and wished me luck.

you made the life i was too afraid to admit seemed scary sound exciting - you made me sound exciting.

secretly i kinda hated you for that.

i remember you in pink.

you sat there playing the violin between your second and third hot pink toes

unable to look me in the eyes.

i remember eating pickles on the carpet - you told me your mother told you liars never look you in the eyes.

you never looked up.

you never asked me to stay.

i'm wondering about the dreams i've produced

i wake up every morning praying none of these texts are from you 

none of the emails are from you - or cc: to you

i want to bcc: you my heart in case i no long exist beneath the power you sprinkle on your chest after showers.

that doesn't bother me

there's someone i've been missing

in the wrong place - trying to make it right

between jay z lyrics & bootleg movies we brought from the incense man i wrote you a note and placed it at the bottom of your thrift store bag - under the mary k.

you never asked me to stay 

i'm fine here - i make friends easy - everything seems beautiful to me always.

i'm just not eating - and sometimes i stay in the shower too long.

i've learned to love when it rains 

no one can tell when you're crying

i brought my ticket to you in october today

i imagine your smile - forgetting it exists outside of picture mail and twitpics. 

i grabbed the pen at the bottom of my backpack 

between my passport - under the moleskin journal with letter to the president

i found your fingerprints hanging from a sheet of paper - there was 4 week old chanel mademoiselle attached - and your words:

to fight for you is all i've ever known.

stay home.

let's.write.poems

let's write poems on subway seats from opposite corners of the world

and see who can stay under longer

make our own graffiti riddled billboard ads with our teeth blacked out from too much sugar

we should always love like this

jumping rails and brooms hoping the administration never asks for tickets

because we didnt do it for paper

we did it because it felt right

we ain't got nothing to prove to nobody but ourselves - god said

i saw god last evening popping a pimple in the mirror - laughing at his pain

he tattooed my name on his neck hoping there would be questions

but there are none

just poems you and i left on opposite ends of the subway cars

my.side.your.bed

six months ago i imagined how your heart would beat when i put my ear there.
this isn't how it's supposed to sound.

i imagined every fifth beat would be skipped - just for the hell of it.
nothing special - except my head fits there - balanced.

at some point slightly after our first spades game (you flipping several cards up as you dealt) i decided i'd find a crack to slip through when you weren't looking.
there are no new year resolutions in this year's journal - on purpose.
i wanted to start this year with no expectations or bars to reach - giving you a head start.

three months ago i figured my head may be too big to fit
so i'd use my hand first.
slow my heart rate to keep the beast from conquering your heart.
i'd get it another way.

the pillow you offer on the cold nights when my apartment becomes too far to drive back to can remain on the bed where i've left several dreams and a few cloud-like configurations.

let's eat whatever it is i cook and discuss sexual partners and why we're each other's exception.
let's kiss between the periods and the first letters.
inhale the rest of my cologne when the commas get to be too much.

"how long you think we can do this?" - you ask.

"until one or the both of us can no longer believe in forever or fiction." - i replied.

you rolled to your stomach and turned your head towards mine: "are you comfortable?"

i remained on my back - staring at the ceiling - silent - knowing your heart was now closer to me: "i'm good"
and i found my side of your bed.

remained.like.this

we stopped talking during desperate housewives
and on commercial she expressed her desire to become one
but she never trusted my promises 
and my skinny jeans no longer bent at the knee
so we remained like this

we held tight to text messages and stored them in hidden folders
beneath layers of animal print thickness we’d read them while the other snored

her blackness learned to dwell peacefully between my fingers
I explained blackness to her from eyes of a Senegalese girl
so she relaxed her hair and insisted that I pull from the roots

she told me race was constructed
so we trashed the latex
and I no longer grew beanstalks outside in the dirt
I planted seeds at the crack of dawn when the sun came to visit
and only at home
she wanted to love the parts of me that grew in the lower parts of her

we prayed we’d give birth to a daughter
so we’d never run out of water

and we’d remain like this.

i.look.good.on.paper

i sat on the E train headed to the world trade center site so i could catch the path back to my spot for some rest, relaxation and this bag of 10 empanadas i got from the colombians in jackson heights.

fall is almost here and all the flashbacks of fall 2002 are starting to hit again and i remembered that i needed to call my LB.

then this couple got on the train.
and like most new york city couples, half of the couple was ugly.

so after hating on the ugly dude for having a girl that looked like stacy dash naked, i quickly realized i was riding the train by myself.

but why?

maybe i don't look as good in person as i do on paper.
naw...that definitely isn't the issue.

this is me on paper:

righteously educated and free man.
i believe in happiness above all else.
i'm a ph.d student at howard university.
i'm a graduate of the great bethune-cookman college.
i belong to two of the greatest fraternities known to man:
paddle krakkin' goodfella gamma theta chapter of kappa alpha psi fraternity, ink. & prince hall f & a m hercules lodge #17
i've lived on my own (outside of my momma's house) since i was 18.
i make my own money.
i know how to hustle, and i do it everyday (being broke is not an option)
i go to school in washington d.c. - live in jersey - work in manhattan - supporting a son in private school in florida.
my personality is damn near perfect.
i cook meals that make panties dissolve.
all mothers like me (except one...but her judgment of men is skewed)

i could probably go on for pages, but you get the picture.

maybe i should drop out of school - get a blue collar job - forget the world is bigger than my back yard - and find some woman who's so preoccupied with pleasing everyone else, she doesn't notice me weakening her happiness and esteem day-by-day. 

naw...

eff that. i ain't changing.

that's what i look like on paper.

below is what i look like elsewhere:

the.middle.urinal

i was standing in the bathroom shaking jimbrowski after a much needed release of fluids and a note came to my head.

i'm hoping the message hits you like it hit me...
if not...forgive me. it's 3:06am and i just got off the china town bus in DC.

there were three urinals in this particular bathroom.
not nearly enough for the type of place this was (train station).

i would think that given the amount of men that probably pass through these halls every day, they would build more urinals to accomodate, but no.

so i'm standing there, bag of cheese danishes in my mouth, clenched tight, cell phone placed securely in my pocket so it won't fall out and into the drops of piss on the floor left by the man before me that didn't wash his hand, and good ol' faithful jimbrowski in my hand making the business happen.

i was in the bathroom alone.

the little guy walks in, clears his throat, took a second to observe that no one but me was there and made his move for the middle urinal.

i finished peeing, shook, zipped up, washed my hands, towel dried them and departed.

my question: what the fuck was wrong with that last urinal?

this isn't the first time. 
it happens all the time.

and the homosexual thoughts many of you are having aside, this is a common issue.

there's a theory out there that makes a lot of sense to me regarding black men.

it goes a little something like this:
black men, having been psychologically fucked up by the transatlantic slave trade/middle passage due to the cramped (for lack of better) spaces and extremely close proximity to one another, no longer want to be that close again to another individual, therefore we leave that seat between us on busses and in theaters...and the stall.

so...

again...

why the fuck didn't that man use the end stall?

given the theory, one could argue that the man being white had no idea about the whole middle passage conditioning.

but oh well...

it's 3:18 now...

one more thing: 
i was asked by a co-worker a long time ago why i didn't shake the hands of white men.

it's not 'cause i'm racist or prejudice, but i've NEVER seen a white man wash his hands before leaving a public restroom.

leave comments.


-me

and.then.we

(for my michelle - who does not exist yet)
-----

tomorrow when i tell the story of election night 2008 to the man who asks "what did you do when they announced the winner?," i want to tell him about how good you smelled when we hugged. how soft your lips were when we kissed.

i want to remember my walking back in differently.
i want to remember me walking in - attempting to begin discourse on african-americans and voting, and you'd say something like: "do we need to discuss this now?"

i want to remember you sitting next to me on the bed - kissing my neck and bindly finding that spot on my earlobe, and i'd say: "you think we should hit the streets and celebrate with the people?"

i want to remember you - hair undone - sweat pants and sneakers - white t-shirt and cereal box wristband that once belonged to your cousin - kissing me. between lip-to-skin sounds you'd tell me: "can't we forget about the election? let us put down the number two pencils and council member at large fliers and break some shit."

and i call you counter-revolutionary.

you counter: "let us occupy the democratic headquarters and love each other. let our backs press hard against barack's face plastered on walls behind barbed wire fences. grab as much flesh on my back as you can and hold it. press me equally as close to you and love me as though the election depended on it. love me like this night may not survive the cheers and bottle popping."

and then we turn off the television - and loved as though the love we made would bring about change.

she.wont.know

She Won’t Know

Had it not been for the shoes he’d have stuck around
So I no longer leave mine outside her door
She lets me scuff the floor every so often
As long as she can trace my tracks
This is the way she loved
Through distrust and the occasional emotional outburst
She’s the daughter of a woman just like her
This woman convinced her my secrets were a problem
And my whereabouts were important
I carried her vulnerability around in my shirt pocket
And tucked her low self esteem into designer jeans
And this was how I preyed
Not in prostrations and Arabic but on these women
Hoping they’d never break water
But we gave birth to 13 sons in hopes they’d give birth to daughters
And when I came I promised to never leave
Yes a woman can raise a man
But she shouldn't have to
The sun sleeps nights and mother plays the moon tracking my moves and had me in check
While the sun slept we conceived
And because her belly was high it was a girl we believed
So I’m in this for life still
I’d teach her to recognize bullshit
And whether they wore sandals boots or sneakers
She’d learn that at the kitchen table sitting in front of me
Instead of at school when the kids ask why her father wasn’t around
Because it’s a fact that women of the fatherless tribe love differently
And that…
She will never know

-me

evangelical.whore

the locks on the church door had been changed, so he started knocking.
this was the sunday three women were to be ordained in this church as deacons.
the church folk in the area heard about it, and were completely against it, so they got the ball rolling on the pastor's expulsion.

"ain't no woman gonna hold such a position in this church."

see...
in this church, the woman can be the mother, the usher, the cleaner, the announcer. but definitely not in any position of power.

therefore she is reduced to nothing more than the evangelical whore.

and by 'this church' i mean most of the christian churches i've found myself frequenting since the days of old.

and then we come to 1 corinthians 14:33-35: "...As in all the congregations of the saints, women should remain silent in the churches. They are not allowed to speak, but must be in submission, as the Law says. If they want to inquire about something, they should ask their own husbands at home; for it is disgraceful for a woman to speak in the church." 

had corinthians been placed in the old testament, christians may be able to excuse it like they do the 'no pork' rule found in deutoronomy 14:8...

but this is in the new testament.

a lot of the blame could be placed on constantine - a man very much against women, and also aided in the church's enculturation. 

he was soo much against women, he removed many from the bible, and those that remained had very limited power. hence mary magdalene becoming a whore instead of the wife of jesus.

he removed the mother from the trinity and replaced her with a 'holy ghost.' (the original trinity: father, mother and child)
-----

women have began taking on leadership roles.
my last membership in a baptist church, was a in a church led by rev. peggy bryce - a woman.
there are plenty of CO-pastors that are women now, and pastors as well.

not sure what the point of this writing was...
but it's sunday, i think, and i just felt like saying some shit.

feel free to respond as always, but please go on more than faith if you want to argue or debate. state information that can be pulled up, found, easily obtained...

everything here i've said can be found, and i can give you sources.

and do not argue in my honesty box like most of the arguing folks thus far.
they only get more upset with me when i tell them what i think about them and theirs.

peace.

equally.yoked

she hung around hoes, thieves and girls with self esteem to match my gas tank.
and i'm sitting here now trying to figure out if they were equally yoked.

she said we could never be because our religions didn't match.
i understood.
she gave me the rundown off the eggs and the stuff inside.
i put up an argument, but it fell on deaf ears, so i understood and moved on.

and today - years after the muted argument, struggles and my egg being thrown in the river - it hit me:

grab the bible and check it out.

"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?"

and the very moment i read it was the very moment i realized that ignorance is definitely bliss.
had i never read that, i wouldn't have to question anything. i could let shit slide.
but i can't now.

truth: our religious views weren't eye-to-eye. but we were working hard on everything else, and drastic changes had been made for the coming construction of our foundation.

after reading, i've decided that - of course - this passage could be used when speaking of marriage and lovers in general, but this passage could also be used for all relationships...correct?

when a woman of righteousness is the only righteous wanderer among five heathens, what should happen? do they get equally dismissed?

sidenote: going to church doesn't make you a christian - just as going to a garage doesn't make you a car.

her prophet and my prophet are strangers, but we knew each other well.
but she found the impossibility in it.

so where does the line get drawn?
because, as most of us know, friends are often more influential than a lover.
therefore friends and lovers should be picked and weeded equally...correct?

i could be completely wrong about all of this.
well, not all of it.
but some.

so if you find flaws in my words, please feel free to point them out.
and again...direct all hate mail to: www.kissmymothereffinga**.com or my inbox or even the comment wall.

thanks folks.

do.not.follow

the hardest person in the world to write about is The Kid...
but i'm sitting in my 7th floor almost-corner office
staring out of the window and reflecting on a few things...
and this came to mind...

-----
i will cover my footprints and bury my shoes
so my son will never be asked to walk in either
they led to his mother's bed
it's been burned and discarded
and i never want him to know the feeling of either

-salah abdul al-waahid (d.l.w.)

i.am.a.good.dude

(not 100% true)

we spun while etta james blew:
at last
my love has come along
my lonely days are over
and life is like a song.........

she asked: why are you not married?

i replied: the only two women i would ever consider marrying have accepted the proposals of other men.

she asked: are they better men than you?

i exclaimed: ha ha ha. of course not. but they are stable. i am now, and will always be the better candidate...except when it comes to stability. i just don't have that in me.

she stated: so you gather no moss like a rolling stone, i see.

i came back: in case the grim reaper visits my home.

i did the toast and sang a song in all of my intoxication.
and marriage didn't seem so horrible anymore.

in the back of my mind i thought:
only a fool would sacrifice happiness for stability.

and i had a self-admission:
i wasn't always a good dude.

"i was just fucking them girls
i was goin' get right back" 
-shawn carter

i was a fool.
but i've atoned.

so here i stood in this fly ass tuxedo dancing with her.
and telling her how great we looked together.
and how one day it'd be us sitting at the top table in white.

we laughed and danced
and smelled each others neck.

she asked: so will you ever be stable?

running through my head were the men who couldn't write as nice as me, shake as many hands, hug as tight, love as hard, laugh as long, listen as much, teach as many, learn as much, make as much money, browse as many options, or look as good as me...

but they have women who would sacrifice it all for stability.

so i answered: yes. when i find that woman worth being stable for. i'm beginning to believe she doesn't exist.

she asked: so these two women...they're not happy?

i shrugged my shoulders and let her know about the depression weight one of them has put on since accepting, and the late night phone calls to my phone "just to talk."

we kept dancing.

she said: who knows. maybe we will.

and we spun and spun...

the.housewife.she.became

he turned her into a housewife
she spent hours cleaning the blood from her panties
the floors and dishes never had seconds
the rule had been set in place for reasons
they kept her eggs from being fertilized

we don't need no mo' immaculate conceptions

she had already pulled one dead rabbit from a hat left hanging from her knob
but couldn't tell if it belonged to tom dick or harry - the tricks and the johns
the hats - not the rabits
and any new rabbits would need owners

he turned her into a housewife
and birthed babies who'd never love men right
daughters who'd pray sons stretched forth so they wouldn't be raised the same
daughters who'd forgive her for not teaching them to recognize bullshit men
and one daughter who'd fogive her for not always being a housewife

she's been a housewife so long she's taught herself to tend to things
and every now and then she tends to forget her past life belongs to jezebel

and there's nobody to blame but him

my.left.wrist

I saved room on my left wrist 
Hoping you’d occupy the space before we’d occupy the outskirts of Kenya

In rooms full of voyeurs we’ve made love like the exhibitionists we are
We’ve put on shows and left sweat dripping from microphones and nose tips
Somewhere between the first and fourth jazz selection I decided there was a part of you I no longer wanted to share with the on-lookers

The part of you that laughs at black folks making fools of themselves instead of lifting arms and fingers
The part that sleeps in the front seat during cross-country trips just to see how the sun sets in the west

There’d be no houses to wife
Just journeys through shoulder-high grass on our ancestors marrying place 
Window seats to occupy when the weather needs changing
And waters to flow past our ankles on Sundays as we fish 

I’m giving you the window seat because my head leans left when I sleep
And your right shoulder reminds me of a comfort zone I knew one life ago
The second time we met

The first time we grew old together and my memory was buried with me
But that much I know

I’ll trade in Nina for conversation over a 5am breakfast before our pilgrimage up Kilimanjaro
I’ll toss out Miles and Coltrane for a few seconds consisting of whispers under willows and heavy breathing under stars
To discover you new I will forget all previous words spoken 
So over time the language we create will be all we know

My proposal is a part of the me wanting to be picked apart by the you that accepted 

The room saved on my left wrist 
Will not allow this life to pass until it is occupied

how.i.prey

this is how I prey she said.

she said I preyed on women.
she said I was not so much infatuated with them as I was with their power, and I nodded my head – agreeing.
I could accept that.

I didn’t plead my case I listened.

she went on.
she said I was so in love with their power that I began stealing bits and pieces of it, leaving them with less and less... 
she said I found myself less and less in love with them and more and more in love with myself…or the new power I now had.

I nodded slow and cleared my throat.
she went on.

she said I loved what they women stood for. 
what they controlled.
what they could do with the power they had.

I smiled.

then she said I prey on these strong women.
not so much intentionally.
she told me I love strong women and in my search for the strongest, I put them through tests. 
each woman thus far has failed.

she said this:
you’ve let these strong women fall for you and simultaneously you’ve taken all their power, control and metaphorical legs. 
and you realize that a STRONG woman would never allow that to happen.
so you don’t love them anymore.

and that’s the way it happens with you, she said.

but there are strong women out there.

you just have to prey.

save.face

What The Fuck Am I Doing Writing A Note?

Well...Here It Goes: (keeping it short)

John Legend is either a genius or a little man living inside my head writing out my thoughts and making them sound better than any tune I'd attempt to make...

I was sitting back listening to a cd I made from my iTunes of all his best hits and each of the songs would describe some shit I've been thinking about.

A few minutes I was sitting back listening to 'doing it again' and i wanted to send an email or IM or pick up the phone and just say "fuck all the shit in the way...the 3000 miles...the he say she say...the stupid shit and let's do it again."

...but i think all you would have said was "get some rest. i'm sorry." and that would drive me fucking crazy...

so i write this note and hope that you know it's to you and you say something that'll make shit alright.

but knowing you, you'll go on and say something like "...today was a great day. i ate lunch for the first time at..." and this will go over your head.

so...
this is the end of this note.


*if you were tagged to this note, it simply means you are just as crazy as i am...or you were on my mind*

*ordinary people just came on...damn*

i.slept.with.chinua

i sleep next to a window - slightly above berber
listening to chinua achebe snore in my ear
staring at the moon wishing to teach the world of yemaja
make public her many pregnancies but no hospital visits 
there will be no more levees to break
or waters to drink
i've lost my imagination in one of the cold months
and i'm losing myself next to this window
and chinua achebe only seems to get louder and louder

-me

after.we.fucked

she hadn't quite learned everything.

after we fucked - then showered - then faked a few kisses she handed me my shirt and asked if i'd ever return.
i sat back down and we watched frasier.
she was used to niggas who'd flush and go - then become infrequent messages in her inbox and a dick picture in her picture mail.

so when i needed to talk - i'd call
and each picture she had of me had been admired by her mother
"he's handsome" she said

so we stopped fucking for a while so she could learn.
i told her love was a misunderstanding between two fools.
and as long as i didn't give her a reason to love me - she shouldn't.

we became fools who strolled by monuments
and planted sunflower seeds at the bottom of rabbit holes

and i told her:
i do not love you because of who you are -now- to me
or what i believe you may become.

i love you because when i call you - you answer.

i worried a little

well how does one begin to explain what you may consider a 'fuck up'?

like this:
the tip of my tongue was stabbing her clit as though it has broken into my mouth to steal my tonsils. 
i mean, this shit was violent. her body jerking with every tongue thrust, head adjustment, and tickle my middle finger.
i prefer the middle finge because it's the longest.

just five minutes prior to this act of...um...romance, my head was on her shoulder while she explained her reasons for thinking darrius and nina should have never gotten back together. 
i didn't give a shit about neither of them.
after a few sighs, laughs and squeezes of the titties, i unbuttoned her skinny jeans with my lips and teeth.
i created a heated sensation on the already moist panties. right where the pussy was waiting for me.

in a blur of motion, the panties lay on my floor next to my new air force ones with the argyle shoosh. custom made.
i made eye connection with the pink abyss and went in for the kill.

i digress.

while my head was on her shoulder she asked 'what do you get out of eating my pussy?'

without a breath, hesitation or even a blink i answered 'the hardest dick you've ever seen.'

'oh.'

back to me stabbing:

i was right. my dick was throbbing.
the under-vein made it kinda resemble my arm, minus the elbow.
if i were her, and seen my dick, i'd go crazy.

side note: i'm probably the only man who loves his dick like this. i can go on for hours describing the beauty of it.

my teeth bit down softly on the growing clitoris and my lips had fully taken in hers.
she was gone.
somewhere between me attempting to swallow her uterus and her delivering a sermon on her back with her face in the pillow, she had released the sweetest lip-licking nectar.

and immediately after that my dick went numb, but still erect as though it were preparing to break through iron.

'i...want...you...in me now!'

white lights, shoulder shaking and toe curling is what followed.

my down stroke was to a non existent beat.

her spot and my spot somehow became the same spot, as we both yelled 'right there' at the same time.
i was afraid to move from 'right there,' so i didn't.

cross-eyed and stuck-faced, we both yelled for whatever god appeared in the room at that moment.
and she cried, her nails in my back making me want to say 'i love you forever,' but settling for 'i'm done.'

i managed to snap a photo while she bent over to put on her panties.

looking at myself in the bathroom mirror i remembered the condom i had brought through. ribbed for her pleasure. and mine.

it's cool. this was going to happen eventually.
i searched her medicine cabinet for birth control bottles, pills, pill residue.

nothing.

so last night i worried a little afterwards.

she.walked.by

her sneakers were sort of worn on the bottoms.

she carry around an old soul. 
she smelled like my grandma's sheets.
not the grandma i liked most - but the other one.
the one who wore too much charlie red perfume even when she went to her factory job.

but i love her anyway - i think.
this girl - not my grandma. of course i loved my grandma.

i'm kind of shy and she could tell 
so all that came from my mouth was 'so they make them like you in LA?'
that wasn't much of a shy line, i guess.

after she laughed at the corniness i realized there was so much more i wanted to say.

i want to break out into 'darling nikki' songs by prince in the middle of hollywood boulevard.
i want to call her names just to make sure she never takes me to serious.
i want her to hate it when the ignorant throw money in the air in the club.
"why make it rain when the world needs sun," is what i'd want her to say.

i want her to be a basketball fan so i can lie about liking the sport then call out the wrong name. i'd say something stupid like "go lebron" when it's probably really derek fisher.

wait.
derek fisher does still play basketball right?

i want to use pick up lines on the third date just because i know they wouldn't have worked in the beginning.
i'd say:

'i'm trying to figure out how to put you on my roster - you will never know the comfort of the bench - i will always need you in the game'

and after she rolls her eyes - and giggles
she'll say 

'all you have to do is ask'

now she up in my spot
telling me the things i'm telling her is making her hot
and we're vibing to the roots

being comfortable on this planet we've flown our matching spaceships to.
not equipped with rearview mirrors.

and she runs her fingers along the dried paints on the canvas above my headboard that i long ago forgot existed - and she swallows - and asks: why does she look like me - with green eyes?
and i tell her the truth

i don't know
i think maybe i've dreamed of you before
jealous of the one who posed for this portrait

and now all i want to do is call my ex and say:
now i know why it looks nothing like you.
you wanted to own the universe.
i was content with a couple of planets and a red sunset tattooed on our inner eyelids.

i.grabbed.the.moon

we've somehow managed to lock ourselves in ever room of the house with a doorknob and coexist in the exact same spaces.
i guess we've done what my seventh grade science teacher said was impossible.

today i pressed my back against a beach chair and wrote you a letter you will never read.
at least until i die - or you do - and i have to read it at your funeral.

i pressed my back against the seat and remembered your back pressed against the marble-top island in your kitchen that time we thought we'd create sex stories with our clothes on - and your blinds open.

i opened your letter with: "big head"
in case you find my book and decide to be nosy.

you are not on this island with me.
damn you and your shit to do.
one day i want to nikki giovanni you.
kidnap you like the poets do.

we can eat fish from sticks on islands with names that are hard to pronounce while watching the water roll across your ashy feet.
(i just laughed out loud for real)

i pressed my back against the chair questioning whether or not we'd be able to lock ourselves outside.
build an imaginary box around us, wondering if the the beach-goers are watching.
they will be.

i always seem to capture the sunsets when i miss you.
this time, i captured the moon too.
and grabbed it - hoping customs allows me to bring it to you.

on.friendship (praying)

last night i received a call telling me to call my frat brother's fiancee because there had been an accident, and "he may not be doing so good."

i called.

in fact, he wasn't doing well at all.
there had been an accident and his lung was punctured by his broken ribs,
and had it not been for the cops and ambulance showing up when they did
maybe his heart wouldn't have started pumping again.

-"what?! where are you?! where is he?!"
-"we're in washington hospital in DC"
-"i'm in DC. i'm coming up"

although i don't have as many friends as my facebook profile claims, i do have plenty.
i've been blessed to touch the lives of many, and have them touch mine in return, and they know that i love them dearly.
and many of them know that i will do whatever they need.
i've stood in ben's chili bowl preparing to fight an ex-redskin for a friend.
i've jumped over crowds of pumping fist to help a friend whoop someone's ass.
and my frat brothers already know what the deal it regarding how far i'll go.

i told his mother while i held her son's hand: he's probably the craziest, strongest guy i know. he'll make it out of this. this is much easier than pledging in the south. you know you have to be a special person when one person gets the message, and within seconds hundreds are calling trying to find room and board for a few days because they need to see what's going on with their friend.

and i wanted to write.
but nothing came.
until now.

i'm realizing i've been pushing to hard for the survival of some of my friendships.
so i'm allowing them to fade to black.

sometimes we need to realize when we've outgrown some.
and when some have outgrown us.

for the past few months i've been going to the park alone, finding myself the only big kid on the see-saw, hoping one of my friends would show up.

not the friends i drink with on thursdays at grand central.
or visit the poetry spots with on occasion.
or the friends who give me a key to their house and let me fry fish with the bedroom door wide open, stinking up their clothes...
those are the friends who always show up.

i wait for the friends who have directions to the park
but never seem to show.
the friends who celebrate my birthday without me watching lost episodes of BET shows, attempting to apologize.
i wait for them.

so my brother started shaking a little, and i grabbed his blanket and put them over him, and greeted his father as he walked in the room, and listened while his fiancee gave the updates.
and i wondered how many people he waited for that didn't show up as soon as they knew.

i won't wait for you to show up.
i know who's coming when this happens to me.
because i will pick my friends like i have always picked my fruit.

and in 7 hours and 28 minutes i will be back in my brother's room, holding his hand, telling him that everybody that needs to be there is there, or has been, or will be.

and i pray that he squeezes my hand back and attempt to say the same thing.

my.side

six months ago i imagined how your heart would beat when i put my ear there.
this isn't how it's supposed to sound.

i imagined every fifth beat would be skipped - just for the hell of it.
nothing special - except my head fits there - balanced.

at some point slightly after our first spades game (you flipping several cards up as you dealt) i decided i'd find a crack to slip through when you weren't looking.
there are no new year resolutions in this year's journal - on purpose.
i wanted to start this year with no expectations or bars to reach - giving you a head start.

three months ago i figured my head may be too big to fit
so i'd use my hand first.
slow my heart rate to keep the beast from conquering your heart.
i'd get it another way.

the pillow you offer on the cold nights when my apartment becomes too far to drive back to can remain on the bed where i've left several dreams and a few cloud-like configurations.

let's eat whatever it is i cook and discuss sexual partners and why we're each other's exception.
let's kiss between the periods and the first letters.
inhale the rest of my cologne when the commas get to be too much.

"how long you think we can do this?" - you ask.

"until one or the both of us can no longer believe in forever or fiction." - i replied.

you rolled to your stomach and turned your head towards mine: "are you comfortable?"

i remained on my back - staring at the ceiling - silent - knowing your heart was now closer to me: "i'm good"
and i found my side of your bed.