Tag Archives: writing

Dirty Window


An hour after I named my blessings
will, determination, and aint gone take but so much shit
I got up, opened my mind and the curtains
and sat with my pen looking out a dirty window
hoping for a muse
who could whisper purpose so eloquently
I saw a playground called
what big momma birthed
where 3 children played
like aint nobody profiling
like aint no sad songs on the tongues of
choirs dressed in shadows
like the sky been the only trusted blue
like the sun been spotlight
like that earth be stage
I saw those babies put on a show
with faces more animated than television
and smiles dancing between check bones
3 hearts, 2 bodies, 1 spirit
2 sets of footprints in the mud
and I knew a blessing was there
present where time ticks too fast
and yesterday can’t remember anyone’s phone numbers
and I prayed
prayed that insincerity would never wash my window clean
or I might lose my understanding of each beautiful smudge
might forget each dusty promise
each speck of why
that lets us know what tomorrow is worth
because this world makes us believe that a wash
is better than transformation but
I know only in the midst of darkness can you understand light
so only covered in dirt can your soul be cleansed
see these 2 young souls were playing free
with a friend teaching them to build with imagination
preparing them for when we tear this all apart
and I was thankful that guardians
come from up above with degrees in
engineering and innocence

I looked out a dirty window
and saw a couple holding hands
tears down his face
because what he held onto
couldn’t hold his heart together any longer
See he was tired
Tired of hoping strength would come tomorrow
Wishing he could shed the weight
of everything gone wrong before
The unwanted goodbyes that found
refuge in his gut feeling that the next
would be like that last
So he decided to workout
the hesitation he had been grappling with
Because faith without works
is a lonely affirmation that the dead of night
aint got no room for saints and sanctuaries,
only lies and lust
So as grace held his heart
and looked him in his eyes
He got down on one knee & asked
for the now and forever he planned 3 days ago
once he hung his worry on the star crossed love
God gave this lonely forgotten son
with only the blessed belief in his spirit
that the rock he moved along her finger
would resurrect the revelation
that happiness exists
As her tears joined his
I thanked the Lord for this miracle of sight because
It’s hard to see love when your blind to yourself
and he seemed to find the answer
in the reflection from the wet
along her cheeks
so cry y’all, cry

I was looking out a dirty window
and saw wings spread
saw the sun smile, the clouds blow kisses
and the wind clear the way
for a flight path to heaven
I saw eyes look towards me
and hands wave goodbye
felt joy deep and full
exhaled I miss you
holding fingertips to window panes
wishing to reach you once again
can’t we just talk for a moment
can’t you tell me what to put on this page
aint it supposed to get easier
aint the weather report supposed to love me
what I am supposed to do with these storms
Don’t just leave with me the words
I want you to read these stories to me
and put my insecurities to rest
so I can reach my dreams
see angels rise with the dawn
God’s arms welcome them
and it’s a wonder
to see his presence
where we need it most
in the midst of hard times,
where peace is waiting,
insight is available, and breakthrough is inevitable
I know it’s true now, tangible and within reach
but would have never been ready
to receive it
If I didn’t sit down
and look through my dirty window

Glass Cases

usher box

We are the children of glass blowers.
Hands clasped together.
Knees touching the earth
That taught them how
To birth things that grow,
beat fruit, and give to others,
until they die.
Glass blowers whose wishes
to the Carpenter
that sits on high
become part and parcel promises,
pieces to glass cases
covering us in grace.

We pieces of wonder,
memories of times past
longing for tomorrow to come.
We be knick knack,
trophy,
admirable qualities draped
on mannequins.
We be fine china,
snapshots of happy and unsure,
things none has had
or that others have had but
no longer want.

We sit on thrones,
in tombs,
on cross wood,
in prisons.
The plate at the bottom
holds the names we are given
bur may or may not have earned.
It sits there until replaced
by numbers, a dash, and
remembrances rewritten
by guilt and could have beens.

When you see me
those are not bruises.
They are smudges
I pray the next caretaker
will Windex clean.
What’s here is priceless
but closed off.
They key is in my eyes.
Too many have fiddled
with my lock of a tongue
to never get close enough
to know the inner me.
Some have tried the smash
and grab,
but my mother has
unwavering faith.
She has prayed and cried
until the vision of me is
shatterproof,
bulletproof,
but doesn’t protect
from the trauma of seeing
the attempts come and go.

When your purpose and destiny,
worth and wisdom,
aptitude and ability,
Is on display.
You learn what gaze
Feels like.
You learn that gawkin
is a seductive
dance.
That sometimes presence
isn’t possibility,
it’s momentary possession.
Without the key
it’s just an exhibition.

You and me,
we know these glass cases.
These cursed gifts
of safe distance and deniability.
We know too many living rooms
we never considered home,
too many bedrooms
we never felt completely comfortable in.
We have felt trapped in hallways
where people seem to eager
to pass our pain by.
Know too well that shrines
can be adored or despised
but still left to dust or decay.

We be held on to
for others to enjoy.
We be window shopping fantasy.
We be one day I’ll be able
to get that.
We be look what I captured.
We be look.
Look at that.
Come here look at this.
Look now.
Look later.
Walk past and never look at all.

We be here.
Help up by divinity,
shielded by hope
for all the world
to see

Gentrification of Identity

displacement

You don’t tear a person down and rebuild them with intent on something better. That’s what they do to black and brown neighborhoods. Why would you do it to a person?

Talk this way, walk this way, wear these clothes…

Why is there never recognition of the special in each person?

Why do we toss away self determination for impression?

Sanitization has been a thorn in our side for too long. Do we not recognize it’s effects?

Why not add to what is there. Teach value in authentic self and the importance of widening scope. Foster adaptability not assimilation.

The problem with Spike: A Modern Greek Tragedy

spike lee
Spike Lee on set

I went to Chiraq with the other fellows from the Hutchins Center for African & African American Research at Harvard University. We were invited to see the movie by Dr. Henry Louis Gates Jr. (also known as “Skip”). I had been following some of the responses to the idea of the project when it was first announced. I knew that there was backlash over him titling the film using a slang term unfavorably referencing the violence in Chicago. I also read some of the pieces that offered their reaction to the trailer once it was released. None of the responses or reactions were good.

Spike decided to address the criticisms over the trailer. He identified the movie as a satire. Then came the music video by Kevon Carter that didn’t make anything any better. It’s one thing to dig through the #wakeup comments across social media and the ongoing condemnation that results from people believing black people can’t focus on more than one highly discussed thing at one time. You know, #dontbedistracted. It’s another to have someone sing how misguided we are and how we should clean our own doorsteps is a bit much, no matter how beautiful the sound is. He actually sang about Meek Mill and Drake. Sorry dude, I learned way more from that beef about the societal perceptions, the influence of social media, and pop culture relevance than I did from your music video and the movie Chiraq. R&B is not respectability and bullshit.

After seeing some responses that seemed to be favorable from my friends on social media, I was excited to see the movie for myself. To watch it with a group of American and International scholars heightened my excitement. I knew the conversation would be exhilarating. I held hope that this was all just crafty media hype created for a movie that would be so much more than people thought. I wanted to trust Spike. After it was over, we all shared the same look of confusion and dumbfoundedness. I knew how I felt. Many of them didn’t even have some of the cultural contexts to use in evaluation of the film. My heart was heavy for them.

The movie is bad y’all. I mean it is bad. I don’t know if Jennifer Hudson can actually explain what range of emotion she was acting at any point in that movie. They all looked the same. Like she was excruciatingly constipated. Nick Cannon cannot play anybody’s gang leader. He barely passes as a rapper. Hearing him talk in rhyme was gut wrenching. He should have said his lines to J-Hud before she had to do her scenes. It might have inspired her. I didn’t understand the pop up video animations on screen. Sam Jackson probably had some of the best lines even though I have no idea why his Dolemite inspired narrator character was there. This was not an adequate replacement for the Greek chorus.

The writing was not good. The acting was not that good. Some scenes were so heavy handed it was as if the scene had those hand grips that on one ever really understood the purpose for. But every person who did push ups in their room to get cut in High School had them. The pastor who drops Justice Department and Talk Poverty stats during his sermon? Come on Spike. The folks from the church had the hottest gear though. It’ll be bootlegged at some point.

Angela Bassett has the steeliest glare I’ve ever seen outside of Liam Neesom. If Spike had of gotten Martin Lawrence and Bobby Brown to be part of the old men group, then maybe I would have a better feeling about the movie. I think don’t think Angela was acting. I think she throws that glare at breakfast. Whips it out at the mall. I won’t mention Wesley Snipes. Bills gotta get paid. The awkward way they looked at Snoop from The Wire (Felicia Pearson) when they said “lovers” was ridiculous. How she had to represent the whole of the LGTBQ community was just wrong.

I do have to give Spike credit though. He is still gifted, just a little self indulgent at times. I truly think that he believes he can pull anything off. Not this film though. He does draw out some interesting things in the film. There are issues of elder patriarchy, misguided masculinity, and black exoticism brought out. There is attention to the collateral damage of violence in terms of the lives affected. The space made in the movie for the mothers of the victim in Chicago was beautiful (this is Spike’s rebuttal to claims he has treated the violence in Chicago with lack of care or true concern). The whole interaction with the general is funny. Though the setup is ductaped together. Oh yeah, the Opedipus reference was cute. Unnecessary, but cute.

But his goal was to make a movie, not a series of bad improv night sketches. That he did a marginal job of. He won’t hear that though. He is too caught up in trying to defend his decision to make the movie and make it the way he did. But he did not do a good job of translating Lysistrata to modern times. He did not do a good job of replacing the old women and old men choruses that helped frame the original play. He did not do a consistently good job with the dialogue in the film. The acting was passable. The female lead exuded charisma and presence on screen. She was the shining light. Everyone else seemed as confused as I was about what they were doing.

It still carried a message that was internal. It made no real efforts other than pretentious speeches to address the outside influences and factors in the condition that community members in Chicago face. It highlighted how often change in communities falls into the hands of women in the community, but not in a way that reflects the modern history of social movements. The original play was not written with feminist intentions, but it has been used in that way since. Nah, not Spike though.

Sorry bro. That joint was bad.

The preacher was wearing them wristbands Wesley wore in Disappearing Acts. No, I’m serious.

It won’t good.

Superheroes

20782-marvel-superheroes-1280x800-comic-wallpaper

“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” – Christopher Reeve

My mother always told me I’d be a teacher

I ignored her as many young people do their parents

Set my sights on grander and more lucrative endeavors

So I proceeded to chase an illusion

Someone told me I should have

Spent time lending my talents

To a Tin Man of a system

Only to find myself the victim of heartless disloyalty

But along the way

Me and my pen

Came to terms with the marriage of purpose and blessing

Took a title, then accepted responsibility

And found ourselves in front of a classroom

 

When I called her and told her

I was promoted from artist-in-residence to a professor

My expectation

Was that I’d receive an “I told you so”

She didn’t let me down

Then lifted me up

In prayer

To the God that kept her son from harm’s way

Helped him find his way

Gave him gifts

Taught him how to use them

Then allowed him to teach others

 

I remember the smile I heard through the phone

I carry it with me to campus

Show it off to the students who enter my class

I am shepherd to the extraordinary

Who haven’t been helped to understand

The power they possess

My job is to teach them how to use their talents

Harness their uncanny abilities

And oh my do they have superpowers

 

A young man from southern California

Who had his heart ripped out by betrayal

So he replaced it with burning desire to succeed

Covered in resentment like a suit of armor

And I have to show him that what’s possible

Is in stark contrast to what he’s been told

 

A beautiful young woman in tight ripped jeans

Who only sees the world in shades of grey

Telekenetic, willing objectivity into well crafted essays

With elder siblings who try to murder her self esteem

I tell her that like a phoenix

She will be reborn even stronger

 

I have learned that invisibility

Is the ability to be in a room and be ignored

There is a girl in the back of my classroom

Not unseen

I know that she is there

I let her know

The force field of apathy she puts up

Will not keep me from showing her

That she is fantastic

 

I teach composition and rhetoric

Creative writing

Alchemy

If you believe that learning to work the elements of craft

Can alter what matters

Think and you can write

Listen and you can learn

Read and you can react

Aptitude is a desire

Let me show you how to harness hard work

 

Javonte was trying to claw his way out of the streets

Adamantium mentality said don’t ever be broke

So he stuck to his ways instead of the books

Until he was struck

I keep expecting him to wake up

Because I believe in quick healing factors

 

The freshman cheerleader

Whose desire to fit in

Has her adopting the bad habits

Of the people she comes in contact with

Keeps going rogue from my class

I want to convince her it is her potential

That is untouchable

 

The kid they all call strange that wants to be a doctor

I help hone his eloquence so he can cast spells

On those who might doubt his promise

The football player ashamed of his brilliant analytical mind

Because he is more celebrated for his hulking presence on the field

The NY native who is so absent he’s a ghost

Who randomly straddles desk chair like a motorcycle

Trying to navigate the parallel dimensions

Of the hell at home and the responsibility of school

 

I know people with superpowers

I marvel at the possibilities

Some change into costume before leaving their room

Some can’t mask who they were born to be

Mutants don’t get to have an alter ego

The nerds, cool kids, and jocks

They come to me for answers

I try to help them uncover the secrets

To finding them on their own

I never expected to be here

But I couldn’t imagine not being here

Using my ability to read and influence minds

To school these gifted youngsters

 

I called my mother to tell her I was a professor

My expectation

Was that she would give me an “I Told you so”

She didn’t let me down

Then lifted up my purpose
When she asked “Do you enjoy what you do?”

I replied

Mom, I get to train superheroes

 

New book excerpt…

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So I am working on my next book of poetry. It is a book about dating and relationships. It follows my experiences starting in late 2007 when I had to face the end of a long term relationship and the horrors of returning to the dating world. I did what I often do when I am trying to make sense of emotions or thoughts, I wrote. So this is a collection of the poems I wrote along the way, edited of course (You don’t need to see the original versions of some of these). I decided to also include retellings of various experience in my own words and from my own perspective. Hey, it’s my book. So it will include tongue in cheek recollections and introspective reflections on my experiences. It will also include my hope to one day write a happy ending to this whole thing. But that will be another book.

This excerpt is what started it all. I posted an anectdote with one of the poems a long time ago. The response was good. One of my friends, a poet and writer named Mike Simms, told me he wanted to see more of that. The lightbulb went off then. Since then I have been planning this next project. This year I am determined to finish the manuscript.

I am not ready to announce the title of the book yet.

Here you go…

Book Excerpt (draft)

Love is a funny thing. We all know that, we’ve experienced it, and some of us have had the shit smacked outta us by it. The emotion is eternal and universal, but also subjective. It comes to us in various forms based on where we are in our lives. It is a chameleon, a shape shifter, Mystique from Xmen. Anybody notice that she’s called mystique, able to become anything, and she’s blue? Talk about subtle irony. Any one guy who has gotten the blues from a woman who appeared to be everything you imagined knows what I mean, but I digress. See, I was smacked by love in sunny Los Angeles, CA.

Poets…poets…poets. What more do I need to say? I became head over heels over one. Had seen her in New Mexico and 2 years later there she was in Texas. I, for the first time, put myself out there at one of these festival thingies I attend every year. Now I hadn’t done this before and probably won’t do it ever again (it’s like Hedonism at some of these thingies), but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. There was intrigue, watching eyes, secret rendezvouses (I don’t know the plural of this word), and suspense (wasn’t she dating him, are they chilling, what’s going on, I wanted some of that, etc.). We walked, talked, drank frappuccinos, and made plans for our future (actually just later that night…this isn’t a Hugh Grant movie). She confessed her quirks, insecurities, and hangups (to see if I’d run). I said no problem (cuz I’m crazy and L.A. issues aint got nuttin on NC issues) and fell even more into whatever that was I was inflicted with at the time (gas). It was like Romeo & Juliet, West Coast vs East Coast, a train vs Hancock…see a theme forming here? When I got back to NC after the festival thingie I was on cloud 9. We talked on the phone, emailed, and sent each other poems. I asked what she needed from me and the answer was a little challenging. She said, “bring your behind to L.A. so we can see if this thing is real.” Yeah, see the way my bank account work…Ugh, I guess I better start counting pennies and calling favors.

MESSAGE! Don’t fly across the country to see if something is real. Don’t relocate, sell organs, cause yourself physical harm, or harm puppies or small children to see if something is real. Somebody needs to confirm the realness before reservations are made. I should have asked for fax verification.

Instead I said ok. I booked a flight, packed my bags, and flew off for a semi secret week in L.A. (of course no poets were informed of this whole thing…EGADS that would be a catastrophe). I arrived at the airport and was welcomed by the cutest face, the most engaging eyes, and the charmingnest smile ever (no, I am not done making up words). The devil is the Tom Vila of temptation. I was the happiest most oblivious guy in the world.

vrvrhvyrwyrrrvyhrrwyrrrr (fast forward) to 2 days later and I was miserable. After having the fabric of my humanity tested and the whole of my being questioned, I was told I was too nice, too romantic, too understanding, and too damn good (mind you I flew across the country to find this out. Coulda brotha have gotten a Hallmark card instead?). I’ve never been tested like that ever (other than the GRE. That’s it! She was like the GRE. Breakthrough!). So I go from being attacked to being treated to a sightseeing adventure of L.A. (every place there were no poets). It was like a schizophrenic National Lampoon vacation. It was like MMA in the octagon…FIGHT, break for an excursion, FIGHT, break for an excursion. Ugh, but at least the excursions were fun.

I ate at a Vegan restaurant for the first time. I got to check out some community stuff. I was even taken to my first bonfire. I was scared at first I would burned at the stake, but that would have only compassionately ended my misery.

So there I am on the beach trying to find serenity and promising myself to never fall for this one again. We should be snuggled up on this beach. Nah, that would just be choke holds and arm bars. Alas, what is a man to do when the woman he is head over heels for is treating him like an exchange student she is hosting? I decided to try and make something good come out of it. I tuned out the chitchat behind me (what was she talking aboot?), pulled out pen and pad, and composed this poem.

Dear Sunset

Don’t close your eyes yet baby
I still believe in miracles
I find one each morning you wake
I aint ready to let this one go yet

Don’t take your last breath
Because the beauty of your horizon
Is why I still have faith
Why I still think I can escape
Find freedom as far away
As the hope I had
When you smiled

Don’t say goodbye
Leaving me standing alone
As in the dark as when you told me
I didn’t know you
Just familiar with
Like easy Saturday mornings
Lazy afternoons

Tears well like waves behind my eyes
The shores of my cheeks
Is where pride sits
Denial sits
Shallow confidence sits
I’m fighting the pain waiting
To tidal these sand bags
I stacked by not sleeping well without you

I call you at dawn
Find you now at dusk
As fed up with today as ever
But don’t make me say
Goodnight baby

I’m sorry
Beached here
With a whale of an attitude
Chest full of heartache
Wading through the tears
My vision of us surfs on
I’m trying to find the right thing to say to you
Set fire to my insecurities
Let love bonfire dance drunkenly
Around the blaze

Don’t leave me baby
You’re the reason I believe in possibly
Like it’s possible you get more amazing
Each time I see you

Take me with you
Let’s say good riddance
To everything that keeps us apart
Set our doubts sail
Christen it God’s work
Wave goodbye to hesitation
Let the sinking feeling we won’t work
Become a titanic thing of the past

I want to sky dive
Jump off the highest
Mountain of a molehill
To see if I fall to my demise
Of fall into the warmth of your embrace
But instead I’m on this shoreline
Trying to reach you

Whisper your wishes to me
I don’t want God to hear
I’ll fill him in
With my nighttime prayers
So he’ll know why I need you back again
Baby I’m listening even if I look far away
That’s because I know you’ll be there soon
I want to know where to find you

Be us baby
Because I can’t be us without u
Otherwise there’d be this consonant loneliness
I really couldn’t deal with

Dear sunset
I want to see your smile rise again
When I arrive
Let me bask in doing what makes you happy
Because it makes me feel alive

I don’t want you to go
Because all I’ll be left with
Is what I don’t know
Every truth I didn’t let go
Every emotion I didn’t let show

See without you
It’s face my fears of darkness
Or indulge in artificial light
Trying to convince me
That the shadows they cast
Is them helping me put the dark past
Behind me

I can’t do it
When I know you’re still there
You just found the other side of me
I fail to acknowledge
So I howl at the moon
Ravenous but resistant
To every temptation it tries to feed me
I want breakfast
In you eyes

I dream that you are waiting
For me to find my new day
Wishing for my willingness to fight for my morning
Ignore predictions of storm clouds
Or overcast baggage
I want to make your dreams come true
All I ask is that you
Be there baby
I’ll meet you in the morning

This…(breathe)…person told me if nothing else I would get some great poetry out of our experience (people who say that have 8 toes and eat lightning bugs, don’t trust them). Unfortunately she was right. I changed my flight to leave earlier, packed my bags, and embarked on one of the most embarrassing plane rides back to North Carolina. The flight attendant keep checking on me like she was tending to a wounded puppy. Did I look that pitiful? As I languished in my pain I wrote this poem.

Lost in L.A.

I can’t stand to love you
As fear and loathing rises like hair on skin
It scares and disgusts me to care for you
I’m horrified to fall and it sickens me to lose
So I hold and push you at the same time
This is a narcissistic nihilism
Where I don’t want to believe in anything but us
But I don’t believe we will exist
It’s tearing me apart and it’s holding me together
And I don’t know if I know what I don’t know anymore
Am I crazy?

I paint self-portraits on your eyelids
So I can see my reflection when your eyes are closed
So I stare at you when you sleep
And I imagine that your vision of me is why you’re so peaceful
I try to caress you till our hearts beat in syncopation
So it feels like we are one
Because each pace fits in each pause, a long steady rhythm
That I accent with kisses like high hats
As you snore Billie Holliday

Dammit I can’t stand to love you this much
To feel tame under your touch
To run wild from your influence
I say bestiality becomes you
Late at night trying to hold me under the full moons glow
When you realize I’ve spent many moons
Tearing apart the hearts of angels
A ravenous wolf happy to kiss a woman
With her tongue dipped in silver
I want you to slay me

Give me life
So that at midnight we can entomb ourselves between the sheets
And rise again in the morning
Let our nights be our Passover
Are you my Judas or my Peter?
Will you betray me or denounce me
I say you’re my John the Baptist
With me through and through
Your happiness scriptures my significance
And my commitment worships you faithfully
But my insecurities hide from your judgment
I don’t know why you’re here

I often joke that I am your two-way mirror
I see you and you see you
So of course I seem as wonderful as you actually are
My glorious rebel
I could die with you on the battlefield
But if I couldn’t have you in the meantime
I wouldn’t have the manifesto
That fuels my will to fight on the frontlines

They tell us to lay our burdens down
See graves are the only things
That never get tired of holding you
So I dig through the dirt I’ve done
And in my heart I want to bury you there
But it’s hard to hold this in
So as this rose grows through the concrete
I let my tears nurture your impact
I can’t take feeling this way
But I can’t help caring this much

So often relationships are similes
Ours is a metaphor
I find refuge here
But a sanctuary is a home for the heart hell has its sights on
So I pole dance for the devil
Trying to grapple a pillar of strength
I can’t live this way
But I can’t die not loving you

This is my dialectical diatribe
My ballad of balance
Where I blindly weight why I can’t wait to hold you
Against why I can’t hold the weight of having you
Why I can’t remember before you and I can’t picture after you
I can’t stand to love you this much
But I couldn’t stand to not love you at all

I have been kissing the nape of your neck
For a week now
Your touch hasn’t become softer
Your words haven’t become more understanding
I’m waiting to be committed
Proving my insanity with my dedication
Repeating the same affectionate ignorance
Expecting the result to change
Only it’s become monotonous
Instead of monogamous

I just want to hate you
Love the idea of forgetting you
Only I forget to hate you
Love the idea of holding you
This air guitar romance
Where I pretend
That we make beautiful music together
You are an apparition
Imagined when the devil slipped
A hallucinogen into my loneliness
I just want to come down off this high
Want this plane to touch down on NC ground
Want your voice to become an unfamiliar sound
How could I have fallen so deeply
For someone willing to watch me drown
Yet I hold you in my heart
Drip you from this pen
Writing memos to my heart
To never be this foolish again

L.A. sucks. Not really, but I held on to that belief until I was able to return to LA and regain my dignity. Now me and LA cool.

I knew going into this that she had just left a relationship that formed when I first met her in New Mexico and lasted until I saw her again in Texas. It was intense, encompassing, and challenging. She was in one of those places we find ourselves in where your mind is telling you that maybe you should try something different (Sound familiar?). I was the different, someone she would have never otherwise been involved with. I was someone she admittedly said she would eat alive. I was someone she hoped would be the balance of peace and turmoil.

I was struggling through a relationship that had been going on for years. We had moved into the break up and get back together later because it’s too comfortable, safe, easy, etc. phase (we did that twice) only to eventually give up. I was looking for that grand romance to whisk me away to happiness (I was tricked into believing dysfunction leads to happiness. You know, the plot of every romantic movie).

We artists, especially poets, seek to see so we can write. Often we see what we seek where it’s not. Hey, shit happens. It’s the lesson that moves us forward. So now I tip my glass of punch, take it to the head, and rejoice in the wisdom of my experiences.

I was taught that you will find what you’re looking for unless you change what you are looking for. Those looking for change will find the same (only in a different shell). Those who change the way they look will find out even more about themselves.

Yep, I’m that deep. That was bottom of the ocean right dere!

One piece of advice,  be careful of those festival thingies. They can get you in trouble!

But wait, there is more!

So a few years later I’m sitting at my computer on a Sunday afternoon perusing facebook…

Miracle Whip (a conversation on power)

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Miracle Whip: A Villainous Villanelle

Miracle Whip is polarizing
Undeterred by contrasting perceptions
The aim is to rally its base

Moderates vary in their condiments
Revolutionaries make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
See Miracle Whip is polarizing

They say po’ folks beg for cheese in blocs
Instead of working for white bread
The aim is to rally its base

Ketchup goes best with chalk outlines
Mayonnaise is all liberalism and no fight
But Miracle Whip is polarizing

Bipartisan delis seek extravagant expansion
Say menus should be geopolitical
The aim is to rally its base

Privilege packaged all red, white, and blue
Butter knives legislated, privatized, or militarized
Miracle Whip is polarizing
Its aim is to rally its base