Tuesday, January 15, 2013

~The Realist Shit I ever Wrote~


This my newest word...the transition into my Spoken Word artistry. A friend of mine recently told me to make sure I share my work. I said I do on my blog...but as I sat and thought about what he said I need to expand and grow. I see myself lord willing doing my traveling and going to more open mic nights. I'm ready to take my work to a different level. After writing this piece...I realized I'm truly gifted. I'm so blessed to have a wonderful talent. And I will never stop sharing it with the world! I hope you enjoy.

How can we live?
When we aren't given a chance
coffins become white tubes
a massive twister suction away with
legs pried opened from east to west,
and another life is lost...forgotten

And how can we decipher the real, in the world full of the fake?
Counterfeit money, bootleggers,
Cup sizes double with silicone inflations,
hair shipped from Asian countries,
planted in Afro-American heads
as thoughts of European beauty...deception

Why does loneliness exist?
When I want somebody to come over
and dance their lips along my neck planting soft kisses
like butterfly wings dancing,
embracing the smooth soft skin of my human existence,
you know I am woman, I want to be held and needed,
and shown affection and hear words like...I love you

And why is it okay for one to judge?
Like they're rocking a sparkling bald head
with a name tag of "Mr. Clean"
hands washed several times and still aren't squeaky clean

And why do poets love to write at night?
Releasing organic rhythms of nature
like an artistic orgasm on paper.....insomniac

And why are we taught to fall in love?
When falling means to come down unstable, stumbling,
like the twin towers, instead we should stand in love.
Deeply rooted like a carrot sleeping under mother nature's bed
Freshly watered and nurtured, Untouched and pure

And why are we taught not to question God?
When he is our Father the only one who knows everything,
sees everything, and does everything,
so instead we hear answers from strangers and neighbors
that could possibly put us in Danger

And why is it not over until the fat lady sings?
how come it can't be over when this Poetic Queeen
with light brown eyes and thick coiled hair,
steps away for the podium drops the mic and says...This is the Realist Shit I ever Wrote


  1. Wow, that was good. I love to read poetry....you're deep and truly gifted.